Beneath the Branches
by LayAtHomeMom
Summary: "The town of Forks is typically synonymous with boredom, not serial killers."
1. Chapter 1

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!  
**

* * *

**Quantico, VA  
****Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit**

Rapping softly on the door, I peek my head into my director's office. "You wanted to see me, Esme?"

"Flight 2212," she says over me, cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder while jotting something down. "Got it." Waving me in, she points at the seat in front of her desk. "And his flight is out of Ronald Reagan, not Dulles right?"

Chelsea follows me in and rounds the desk, stuffing papers into a secure folder and placing them onto a tray.

Esme mouths a _thank you_ before speaking back into the phone. "All right, thanks, Seth. I appreciate your help."

I sit back in my seat, staring at the file, wondering which hellscape I'm going to be shipped off to today.

_Please not North Dakota again. Anywhere but fucking North Dakota._

"Forks, Washington," she says, punctuating the city's name with the click of the receiver.

"Never heard of it."

"Little town off the one-o-one. You blink and you miss it." She snaps her pen shut and drops it on her notepad. "Too small to be racking up a body count."

"How many?"

"Three young ladies in a matter of almost two months."

"Has a pattern been established?"

She tosses the file in front of me causing it to echo throughout the space. "You tell me."

"Jesus," I mutter, flipping through the crime scene photos.

"Bound, tortured, strangled, and stabbed – in that order then left for dead in a wooded area near some hiking trails." She folds her arms over her chest. "Three weeks between the first and second, two weeks between the second and third."

I inhale deeply through my nose and shut the folder. "No agents in Seattle available?"

"They're all tied up with some big trafficking case and to be honest I don't think Agent Peters and his unit would even know where to start with this."

"I see."

"Forks PD is requesting a full profile and assistance apprehending. I'll have Chelsea send you your travel arrangements." She checks her watch. "Your flight leaves at noon. Head straight to the station once you get there."

I nod.

"Chief Swan will be expecting you."

* * *

**Forks, WA  
****Forks Police Department**

"Can I help you, son?" a Barney Fife type drawls from the front desk with an 'I hate Mondays' coffee cup in hand.

"Uh, yeah. I'm here to see a Chief Swan." I open my jacket to show my identification. "Special Agent Edward Cullen."

"You're a Fed?"

"I'm a Major Case Specialist with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. I've been sent here at the request of my superiors and the Forks Police Chief to assist on an investigation."

He tips his chair back on two legs, grinning. "Is that right?"

"Agent Cullen," a sharp female voice sounds from a nearby office and the officer approaches with her hand extended, "Leah Clearwater."

"Nice to meet you."

Her grip is as firm as the set of her jaw. Poised and serious, she motions for me to follow her all the while scowling at the front desk clerk who makes a point of busying himself with some files. "How was your flight out?"

"Long, but uneventful, thankfully."

"I'm surprised they didn't send some of the agents from Seattle over to help."

"They're working some big trafficking case."

"Ahh."

"And besides, cases like these are sort-of my thing."

"Your _thing_ is brutal murderers?" she asks, opening the door to a conference room lined wall-to-wall with photos of the crime scenes.

My eyes scan the images of the victims, bloodied, battered, and bound among the trees with a purple flowered meadow in the distance. "Evidently."

A gentleman stands as I enter even though he looks dead on his feet. Dark hair, tired eyes, and a full-on Magnum PI 'stache. This must be the Andy Griffith to the Barney up front.

"Chief Swan," I shake his hand, "Special Agent Edward Cullen."

"Thanks for coming." Clearing his throat, he turns back to the photographs. "Are you up to speed on everything?"

"I've gone through all the info you've sent over, but if you don't mind, I'd like to do a thorough run-through with you."

He runs his fingers down his mustache and leads me to the wall with the first victim's information and photos. "Jessica Stanley, age twenty-four, born, lived, and died here in Forks. On the evening of May 3rd, her mom said that Jessi had a hankering for a crunch cone so she walked down to the Dairy Queen just before nine."

My eyes follow his finger over the timeline on the whiteboard.

"Found her body three days later after a group of hikers happened upon her. Wrists and ankles bound without a stitch of clothing on."

"Was the clothing found?"

"Yeah. Neatly folded in a pile a few feet from the body like the others, all but the undergarments."

"And the pearl on the fish wire?"

"Now see, at the time, we found that nearby on the ground. It wasn't fastened to her neck like the other two girls."

"It was his first time," I murmur, leaning in to get a closer look at the lacerations nearly hidden by her blood-matted, brown hair. "He was frenzied. Strangulation isn't easy to pull off and it certainly isn't quick. I'm guessing little Jessi gave him a good fight."

"Crime scene seems to point in that direction. We think the struggle started here," he points to a rotted-out tree, "and ended here, closer to the hiking trail. While the lacerations are consistent with your theory of being frenzied, the number of times she was stabbed has us stumped."

He moves to the next wall, pointing to a photo of a striking blonde, vibrant and full of life. And in the next picture, her corpse, bound and stabbed like Jessica before her. But this time, the killer has posed her, sitting up against a tree wearing nothing but ropes and a piece of fish wire with a pearl floating in the center.

"Kate McCarty. Local girl like Jessi, same age, same disposition. All sweetness and sunlight. The McCarty family runs the bakery here in town and she was working late on the evening of May 22nd, baking the cake for the Yorkie's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. According to the time-clock, Kate left at a little after nine. We found her the next night on the other side of the meadow, across from where we found Jessi."

Taking a closer look, I notice Kate's face is bruised significantly more than Jessi's. "She made him angry."

The chief puts his hands on his hips. "Stabbed her seventeen times, just like he did Jessi."

"But he left Jessica face-down in the grass. Makes me think maybe there was some shame there or that he got rattled. But with Kate," I gesture to the full-body shot, "he wanted to admire his handiwork."

"Now the next one is posed and bludgeoned as severely as Kate, however, here's where the sequence deviates." He moves to the third wall. "Emily Young. Another local girl, age twenty-three, worked at the diner during the day and took classes in the evening. Her boyfriend said she never came home from her Econ class at Peninsula College on Tuesday night. We found her body early this morning, closer to the creek, but still near the trails."

"What's the deviation?"

"The medical examiner cleaned her up and took a look at her a couple hours ago. Weapon, ropes, sequence of attack is consistent, but unlike the other two, this one was stabbed _eighteen_ times."

I move to the final photo of Emily Young on a slab in the morgue and count the seventeen individual gashes around her torso and end at the largest one right over her heart. It's positioned just below where the pearl on a fish wire was wrapped around her neck.

"That eighteenth strike was significant."

"We thought so too."

"He _knows_ her."

"You think it's personal?"

Running my finger over the print, I tap on the cut. "Deeply."

* * *

Hours later, Charlie hands me the keys to my new digs for the foreseeable future at the Town Motel. It's got wall-to-wall wood paneling, a small kitchen unit, and smells like a pine-scented car freshener.

Definitely not the Ritz, but thankfully, it's not fucking North Dakota.

"Get yourself settled and meet me across the street at Lunkers." He nods in the direction of the small bar. "I'll order us some food."

"All right."

"You like fish fry?"

"Can't say. I've never tried it."

He grins and whistles low. "Boy, you haven't lived then until you've had Harry Clearwater's fish fry."

I head straight to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, doing my best to avoid my tired-ass reflection under the harsh fluorescent lighting. I look every bit of my forty-one years on this earth, fifteen of which I've spent chasing down serial killers.

On my way out, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and what I see confirms what I already know to be true.

_I'm getting too old for this shit.  
_

* * *

The bar is the exact type of place I'd expect a guy like Charlie Swan to hang out. Bob Seger on the jukebox, the Mariners on all the screens, and pictures everywhere of average Joes proudly holding up varying sizes of trout.

Everything is as I expected, right down to the late-thirties strawberry blonde waitress who dresses like a twenty-year-old and flirts like a teenager. What I don't expect is the gorgeous brunette behind the bar, bumping the cash register closed with her skirt-covered hip and charming the old-timers with her good looks and soft smile.

"You tell Shelly I plan to drop a casserole off at the Young's house tomorrow afternoon. They're gonna have a houseful until the funeral. Lord knows the last thing they need to be doing is cooking."

The old guy nods and drops a ten-spot on the bar. "I'll let her know."

Hand on her hip, she watches him leave. "Take care now, Earl."

Without so much as a backwards glance, he gives her a wave and bids her goodnight. As he passes, she notices me and those pretty dark eyes move over my body slow. Down then up until she meets my stare and those full pouty lips turn up at the corners.

"Well, hi there."

"Hello." My voice comes out rough and much quieter than I intended.

"You're new around here." She pauses a few seconds, waiting for me to elaborate. When I don't, she brings her other hand to her hip. "You lost or something?"

_Sass. I like it._

"Don't let her give you a hard time, Cullen," Charlie says, slapping some cash down. "He's with me."

Snapping her fingers, she points to Barney Fife who's still grinning at the end of the bar. "You're the Fed Sam was talking about."

"That's me."

"Then this must be yours." The strawberry blonde waitress slinks up beside me, holding a grease-filled basket of fish.

"His meal and his drinks are on me." Charlie gestures for me to have a seat then looks back at the brunette. "Put him on my tab."

"You got it, Chief."

He eyes her seriously. "Don't walk to your car alone."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Bells."

She gives him a look that I can't decipher, but whatever it is, he relents. Once he's out the door, she turns back to me. "What're you drinkin' tonight, Fed?"

"It's Special Agent Edward Cullen." I smirk. "And I'll have whatever's on tap."

"Special Agent Edward Cullen? That's a bit of a mouthful, don't you think?"

"Oh honey, he's more than a mouthful," the waitress mutters as she heads over to another table.

Rolling her eyes, the bartender grabs a glass and pulls back the tap. "You'll have to forgive Tanya. She's just horny."

"She's forgiven, and I'm Edward." I hold out my hand. "Bells, is it?"

After sliding my beer beside my fish basket, she slips her soft palm against mine and grips it firmly. "_Bella_."

"Bella," my brow furrows, "I could've sworn he said _Bells_."

"He's called me that as long as I've known him."

"You guys go way back?"

An unexpected smile creeps over her face. "_Way_ back. Now try the fish."

I take a bite. "It's good."

"Good? Not great?"

Taking a sip of my beer and instantly regretting it, I wince. "I can actually _hear_ my arteries hardening."

"Makes sense." She flings a bar towel onto her shoulder. "Harry Clearwater died of a coronary."

"That's comforting."

"Bon appétit."

She saunters away, checking on patrons as she goes. The sullen crowd thins out over the next hour, all the men dutifully reminding the girls to be safe or call if they need a ride. I nurse the beer and feign interest in the ballgame, biding my time until she chats me up again.

"Want another Vitamin R?"

"No thanks."

"It's gotta be warm as piss by now."

"Eh," I shrug a shoulder, "it'll do."

Leaning forward on the bar, she props her chin on her hand. "So, where ya from?"

"All over, but I've lived in Virginia since I've been with the Bureau."

She taps her fingers on her cheek. "And now you've been magically whisked away to sunny Forks?"

"I have." I glance back at the now nearly empty bar. "It's interesting."

"The town or the bar?"

"Both."

A quiet chuckle escapes her lips. "I'd hardly call Forks interesting. Current events aside, of course. And Lunkers?" She scrunches up her face. "Even less interesting than Forks."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. There are two bars in this town. Lunkers is where you drink if you want to hear a bunch of old men relive their glory days and brag about the size of their … _fish_." She jerks her thumb behind her at the 8X10 of Chief Swan holding up a trout in one hand, a trophy in the other, and somewhere beneath that big, bushy mustache, wearing a smile. "But if you want to raise a little hell or get some cheap thrills, you can head on over to The Spotted Dog."

"Cheap thrills, huh?"

"Well, yeah." Her teeth run over her bottom lip and those big, brown eyes stay fixed on mine. "Aren't those the best kind?"

_Sweet Jesus_. "I'm too old for any kind of thrills." _Especially those of the pretty young thing variety_.

Standing, she sighs and gives me a wink. "That's too bad."

* * *

**A/N: *waves* Hi all! Thanks so much for giving this fic a chance. Also, huge love and thanks to the lovely admins at The Lemonade Stand for featuring Beneath the Branches on their Sneak Peak Saturday.**

**I admit that I've been slacking in the WIP department and haven't been reading as much lately, but I've got two recs for you that are owning me. **

**Like A Virgin Fic Rec:**

**_Il Profumo del Mio Paradiso_ by Vagabonda - Peeps - this one is not to be missed. Twilight fanfic on the Thorn Birds tip. Beautifully written by one of the loveliest and most taleneted ladies in the fandom. This is her first fic, so make sure to check it out and leave her some love because this story ... *Lay does a chef's kiss* so, so fab! #Ferruccio4ever**

**Let It WIP Fic Rec:**

**_Vacation Town_ by bicyclesarecool - *Carrie ZM and Lay make heart hands* You guys, legit, bicyclesarecool is serving up some essential summer reading that's giving us EVERYTHING we didn't know we needed in our lives with her signature style and her vibe that just speaks to us. Don't sleep on this one, pals!**

**Sound off, fandom - what fic is owning you these days?  
**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!  
**

* * *

"No hair, no skin beneath the nails, no prints or bodily fluids found on Emily." Chief Swan tosses the medical examiner's report onto the table. "And there doesn't appear to be any signs of sexual assault."

"So, he's not deviating from the process in that respect then," I mutter to myself as I compare victim photos. "But he_ is_ evolving."

"What do you mean?"

"He's getting comfortable. More precise. With Jessica, his rope work was sloppy and I suppose that could be because he was nervous, but he bound her with a traditional round lashing." Tapping a finger on a shot of Kate's bindings and then Emily's, I note the difference. "With the other two he went with a diagonal lashing."

The chief inhales deeply through his nose. "Maybe he wanted to secure them better so they couldn't give him the fight Jessi did."

"That's possible I suppose," I tip my head back and forth considering it, "but I think what's more concerning is that he's confident enough to bind them with a more complex lashing."

Taking a seat beside me, he folds his hands together on the table. "What exactly are we dealing with here?"

I turn to face him and see the worry and exhaustion etched in every line on his face.

"The phones are ringing off the hook. I've got journalists and law enforcement and every nib-nosed gossip in Forks asking me questions I can't answer." He swallows. "I need a profile."

"You do, but there's something more pressing we need to establish."

"What's that?"

I eye him seriously. "If he's a local."

* * *

"Watch your step here," the chief warns, pointing out a protruding tree limb hidden beneath a patch of moss. "The crime scene is right up ahead."

"Is this a popular trail?"

"Among experienced hikers it is, but most folks who come out here are hiking the Bogachiel Rain Forest River trailhead. It's a loop that has access to the River Trail and the Ira Spring Wetland Trail."

"Is this the only access to the crime scene?"

"No, it's the long way around, but it _is_ the only way we'll get to it without the media circus accosting us."

Birds whistle high above me and I can hear the rush of the river in the distance. "Pretty low visibility out here," I observe, eyeing the minimal sunlight streaming through the trees. "Can't imagine how dark it gets at night."

"I wondered about that myself."

"The M.E. placed the time of death within hours of each abduction based on stomach contents and optic fluid. That means the killer did all that damage in the dead of night wearing what? Night vision goggles?"

He shrugs. "Unless he brought a lantern or something, but I didn't see anything on the ground that indicated one was there."

"Or maybe he wore one of those camping headlamps?"

"It's possible. That'd be much easier I'm sure." He points to the yellow crime scene tape ahead. "Here we are." Dipping below the tape, he points to the base of the tree. "This is where we found Emily."

I crouch down, getting a better look at the ground and the area around it, noticing the purple-flowered meadow about forty-feet away. "How'd he get her over here?"

"I'm not sure, as far as I can tell there are three ways he could've gone. One, he could've brought her in off the highway. That'd be the clearest path, but there's a nearby ranger station so he'd run the risk of being seen."

"That's unlikely."

"Two, he could've parked by the overpass, dragged her along the river."

"Did you guys check for footprints?"

"We did. Came up empty on that front, but it can't be completely ruled out."

"Agreed."

"The third and most likely is the well-hidden old service road up ahead." He points up a hill. "There's no trail, but there are flat rocks that lead back here."

"Hard to leave footprints on rocks."

"It is."

"How accessible is the service road at night?"

The chief's hands go to his hips, looking up the hill then back at me. "Pretty accessible if you know what you're looking for."

"Proximity to the other crime scenes?"

"Relatively close." He dips his head to my right. "We found Jessi about a hundred feet that way and Kate a little bit further than that."

"He must have some level of comfort with the area if he's made it his killing field."

"Looks like we have our answer then."

I nod. "I'm pretty certain your boy is a local."

"That's what I was afraid of." The chief's words come out gruff. "You think you've got enough to make a profile?"

"Yep." I stand and brush my hands together. "I think I might."

* * *

"Good afternoon," Chief Swan says, placing the profile information on the podium and looking out over the squad room full of law enforcement from the Forks PD and surrounding communities. "I wanted to give an update on the recent homicides here in Forks. Per my request, the FBI has sent over a Major Case Specialist from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to assist us with finding the individual responsible for these crimes." He tips his head in my direction. "Agent Cullen, the floor is yours."

"Thanks, Chief." I take his place behind the podium and eye my notes one last time before meeting the curious gazes of the officers in front of me. "After a thorough review of the evidence, the crime scene reports, and the medical examiner's findings, we've put together a broad profile of the person responsible for the deaths of Jessica Stanley, Kate McCarty, and Emily Young. We believe the suspect is a Caucasian male between the ages of 22 and 30. This person is highly organized, ritualistic and _thoroughly_ prepared. Given these factors, we presume that the victims weren't merely just a seized opportunity."

"He targeted them," Leah clarifies in a quiet voice, but I can't tell if it's a question or a statement.

"We don't think he just happened upon them, no. Everything about the crime seems premeditated, so if we operate under this assumption, it's highly unlikely that his victims weren't the intended targets all along."

Her lips twist as she considers this, but she says nothing.

"The person we're looking for is very strong. More than likely he's physically active or may be employed at a place where manual labor and heavy lifting is required. He's also proficient in knots and lashings. This could be something he does regularly for his job, but more likely it's a skill he picked up in Scouts based on the lashings he used to bind the victims."

Chief Swan shifts beside me, folding his hands in front of him and squaring his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that we're confirming what everyone suspected, but hoped wasn't the case.

"Given the location of where the bodies were found, we believe that the perpetrator is a skilled hiker or huntsman. We believe he's both familiar and comfortable in and around the area of the homicides."

Rumblings sound throughout the room as the officers exchange wary glances, but it's Leah who speaks again.

"So, he's a local?"

"We believe so, yes."

She furrows her brow. "This doesn't make sense."

"These things rarely do."

"No," she shakes her head, "I mean the profile." She hesitates, looking down at the information she's written. "You said 22 to 30, but typically killers who exhibit this kind of precision are older, right?"

Barney Fife, who I now know is named Sam, rolls his eyes and mutters for her to shut up, annoyed.

"No, no," I nod encouragingly at her, "she's right. _Typically_, they are older. You see, it takes some level of maturity to anticipate what'll be needed, what to do, and how to do it."

"Where to dump the body," she adds, giving Sam an _I told you so_ look.

"However, given that our killer got them to a second location without drawing any attention to himself leads me to believe that one," I hold up a finger, "they were comfortable being approached by him. And two," I lift another finger, "they more than likely got in his car willingly. Although it's _possible_ that the perpetrator is a middle-aged or older man, it's not probable."

"So, wait," one of the La Push officers says, raising his hand, "are you saying that they _knew_ him?"

"We think so," Charlie answers, stepping to the podium and slipping a hand in his pocket. "I'll be holding a press conference shortly. Moving forward, we'll be keeping these details close to the vest until we have more to go on. Understood?"

The officers bark out a 'Yes, Chief' before they're dismissed. Once they're out of the room, the chief rests his arms on the sides of the podium and blows out a long breath.

"You really think we're doing the right thing by keeping this information to ourselves?"

I nod. "Until we know more, I think it's the best course of action."

He eyes the community room across the hall with the line of concerned citizens and journalists and camera crews filing in. "My instinct is telling me to warn them."

"That's natural, but, uh," I rub my jaw, "considering you may already have a serial killer on your hands, I don't know if it's in your best interest to give a vague description that will be open to interpretation. What's to stop a bunch of good ol' boys from rounding up the first 22 to 30-year-old that's ever looked twice at their sister?"

The corner of his mustache goes up. "True."

I pat him on the back. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

"Thank you everyone for coming," he says over the rumblings of the now packed community room. "I just wanted to update the public on our investigation into the murders of Jessica Stanley, Kate McCarty, and most recently, Emily Young."

A loud wail sounds from the far wall and a huge hulking man is holding a sobbing older woman tightly. Beside them, a silver-haired man stands stoically, waiting for the chief to continue.

Leah leans over and murmurs, "that's the McCarty family."

Clearing his throat, Charlie continues. "Given the timeframe, proximity, and details of the murders, we feel it's safe to say they're all connected. We are still searching for leads and do not yet have a motive for the killings. We will continue sifting through evidence with the assistance of our neighboring police departments and the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

My eyes scan the room, looking for anyone who matches the description and I notice Leah beside me doing the same, given that there are several males within the age range. "Anyone jump out at you?"

She shakes her head. "Lots of the victims' families are here and a few local business owners." She gestures to a couple of fellas in the front. "Those are the Cheneys. Ben, the younger one is the youth minister at First Methodist." She points to a couple of broad-shouldered men closer to the back. "Those are the Newton brothers. They work for their dad in the summers at his sporting goods store when they're home from school."

"What about him?" I dip my head towards a dark-haired, barrel-chested guy leaning against the nearest doorway. "Who's he?"

"Jacob Black."

"What's his story?"

Before she's able to answer, Chief Swan imposes the curfew on the town and several of the journalists shout their follow-up questions which he ignores and continues with his statement.

"We are urging anyone with information to come forward or call into the hotline, 1-877-367-5773. We're offering a reward of up to $25,000 for any information leading to an arrest. We'll continue keeping the public informed as we know more. Thank you."

The journalists are on their feet, waving their hands and yelling out to the chief as he exits the room.

My eyes move back to the doorway, but Jacob Black is gone.

* * *

"Couldn't stomach any more of Harry Clearwater's fish fry?" a familiar voice asks from behind me as I peruse the meager poultry selection at the Forks Thriftway.

Turning to find the cute bartender behind me, I smirk. "I don't think my ticker could take it."

She's dressed down in shorts and a t-shirt with her hair pulled high on top of her head. Leaning on her shopping cart, she eyes my basket. "Guess you're planning on staying awhile, huh?"

"Seems like it." I look down at the contents of my basket which are mostly staples. "Figured I should stock up while I'm out and about, getting the lay of the land."

"Well, I can help you with that. What're you looking for?"

I toss some boneless skinless chicken breasts into my basket and take a look at my list. "Hot sauce."

"Mild or _wild_?"

I can't tell if she's questioning my preference for hot sauce or women, but before I can think better of it, I blurt, "the wilder the better."

The corners of her mouth tip up in amusement. "That's what I thought. Come on."

We leisurely stroll up and down the aisles, exchanging more glances than words. It's comfortable though, which is a pleasant surprise considering she's a bartender and small talk is fairly essential in her line of work. I don't need the trite chit-chat though. She's telling me all I need to know.

Shoulders back and chin up, she's relatively confident. No outward signs of nervousness when she's speaking and even when she's not, she's poised. Cool as a cucumber. She has a warm smile and a kind word for everyone we pass, and I'm not sure if that's her or just a small-town thing. My eyes move down to her grocery list, neatly written and organized by department. Her handwriting suggests she's left-handed and rational, given the straight lines and upright script with the firm t bars and appropriately spaced i dots.

"Are you profiling me?" she asks, staring straight ahead.

_Yes_. "No."

She meets my eyes, raising a brow.

"Maybe a little." I look away. "I'm curious."

"About?"

"You." I shrug. "You don't strike me as the small-town bartender type."

"That's because I'm not." She dips down and grabs some tea from the bottom shelf. "_Technically_ I'm a student."

"Technically?"

"I finished all my classes, but I wasn't able to secure an internship until May so I couldn't graduate in the spring."

"Where are you interning?"

"At a nearby V.A. hospital."

"You're a nurse?"

"No." She laughs. "Blood and feces are a hard _no_ for me. I'm actually there doing a research internship."

"What's your field then?"

"Psychology," she replies quietly. "I'm saving up to go to grad school."

"Where at?"

"I don't know. Anywhere but here, I guess." We stop in the aisle and she grabs two bottles of hot sauce. "Which wild one do you want? The fiery one or the colon cleanse?"

"I'll go with the fiery one."

She winks and slips it into my basket. "Good choice."

We round the corner to the bakery section. "So, _psychology_, huh?"

"Yep." She shrugs a shoulder almost apologetically. "I like the _whys_."

"The whys?"

"Why people do what they do. The motivation. It's never the same, you know?"

"I do."

"Do you like what you do?"

"Do I like what I do," I repeat, unsure if I've ever been asked that question. "I suppose I do, just not under the circumstances I do them in."

"Understandable."

"Although," I grab a package of cupcakes and toss them in my basket, "I'm much more concerned with the who than the why."

"No."

"No?"

"_No_." She grabs the cupcakes and holds them up. "I can't allow it."

"What's your beef with store-bought baked goods?"

"It's just not acceptable when you have someone perfectly willing to bake for you."

I grin. "That would only be true if I operated under the assumption that someone would _want_ to bake for me."

"It's a fair assumption."

"It would also require me to assume that we'd be seeing each other again."

"This is Forks, Agent Cullen. We couldn't avoid each other if we tried." She licks her lips. "But if you don't like to operate under assumptions, I'll be at the laundromat on the next block over tomorrow night after seven."

"With baked goods?"

"Of course."

Craving sweets has never been an issue for me.

Until now.

* * *

**A/N: Loved seeing so many familiar names pop up in the reviews for the last chapter. And I'm so excited that some of you are already making guesses and collecting clues - you guys make this so much fun!**

**For this week's Let It WIP rec, we're actually doing one that's technically marked as complete, but Carrie ZM and I are waiting with bated breath for the epilogue.**

**_Here's to Now_ by iambeagle - *Carrie ZM bats her lashes and Lay sighs all dreamy-like* Pals, iambeagle is absolutely killing us softly with this fic AND this Edward. It's got romance and adventure and an Edward that we'd LOVE to be below deck with, and it's all served up with that signature iambeagle storytelling vibe we love. Don't miss this one!**

**Reader Rec**

**La Sua Bella Mente (Her Beautiful Mind) by hikingurl - After a devastating and professional betrayal, Bella returns to the only place she feels safe and happy— the mountains of Georgia. A spur-of-the-moment decision to hike the Appalachian Trail offers her the opportunity to regain her confidence, self-worth, and perhaps a deeper appreciation for the uniqueness of her beautiful mind. So many of you are loving this fic, plus it's written by a super talented, incredibly sweet writer. If you're not already reading, make sure to check it out!**

**Sound off fandom - what completed fic is your fave summer read/re-read?**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, favorited, rec'd and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"Whatcha reading?" Chief Swan asks, slipping a coffee on the table in front of me.

"Going back through the interviews you conducted on the Stanley investigation, specifically Jessica's mother."

"Mrs. Stanley's a bit of a jabber-jaw."

"Town gossip?"

He nods. "She likes heralding everyone's business."

"But her daughter was a saint, apparently."

"She was a good kid. My daughter's around her age."

"Was your daughter close with her?"

"No, but I suspect that's because of who Jessi hung around with."

"Bad crowd?"

"She and Lauren Mallory were inseparable."

I flip through the file. "I didn't see her name anywhere."

"Didn't occur to me to chat with her."

"Can't hurt." I shut the folder. "Where can we find Lauren?"

"She works up at the bowling alley on East Street."

"Let's go see if she can give us a better idea of who Jessica was spending time with."

* * *

The bowling alley smells like stale beer and floor wax. ZZ Top is playing and an older gentleman is humming along as he sprays disinfectant into a pair of well-worn bowling shoes.

"Clarence," Chief Swan greets, taking off his hat. "Lauren around?"

The old man gestures to the snack bar where a young woman is busying herself by restocking bags of chips. She straightens as we approach, blowing a stray piece of her fried blonde hair out of her eye.

"What can I do for you, Charlie?"

He runs his fingers over the brim of his hat. "We're meeting with those close to the deceased, see if there's anything that'll help us find out who did this."

"The deceased," she mutters, tapping her long, red nail against the Formica. "You mean Jess."

"Yes, ma'am," I answer. "We've spoken to Mrs. Stanley who indicated that her daughter was not involved with anyone at the time of the incident."

Inhaling deeply, she reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a soft pack of Marlboros and a lighter. "She wouldn't know."

"Were they not close?"

She motions to a nearby exit and we follow her outside. "Let's just say Mrs. Stanley isn't privy to everything." Leaning against the back of the building, she lights up a smoke. "It ain't right speaking ill of the dead. She was my best friend, and I loved her … but Jess was no saint."

I exchange a look with the chief. "Any information on who she's involved with would be helpful."

"How far back do you want me to go?"

"Just tell us what you know," I answer, pulling out a notepad.

"Jess was what you'd call a late bloomer, didn't really come into her own until our senior year of high school. Caught the eye of lots of the fellas, but ended up with Tyler Newton for the better part of nine months."

"Was their break-up amicable?"

"Yeah. Only because Ty is such a good guy. Everyone thinks they went their separate ways because they were off to college." She flicks the ashes at her feet. "Truth of the matter was that Jess stepped out on him."

"With whom?" Chief Swan asks.

"More than one, but I think it was her little romp with James Hunter that made her feel guilty enough to call it quits."

"James Hunter," I say aloud as I scribble his name down. "Was Miss Stanley still involved with Mr. Hunter?"

"God, no." Lauren takes another pull then blows it out the side of her mouth. "James was a one-time thing, twice maybe. The only thing notable about him is that he was the start of her _slumming it_ phase."

"_Slumming it_ phase?" The chief's eyebrow raises.

"After James she went with a few yuck-yucks from Sequim and Beaver."

"Remember any names?"

She shakes her head. "Their names weren't worth remembering."

"What about recently?" Chief Swan asks. "Her mom indicated that she's been more involved at church these days."

"Ha!" Lauren tips her head back, amused. "Her involvement at church had more to do with the youth minister than anything."

The chief's head snaps up. "Ben Cheney?"

"Yep."

"He's engaged to Angela Weber though."

Tapping her finger twice on her cigarette, she raises it to her lips. "The ring is on her finger, not his."

"Were he and Miss Stanley involved?" I ask.

"Involved? No, not really. But that doesn't mean that there wasn't any hanky panky in the choir room after services here and there."

* * *

"I don't like this," the chief says as we climb the stairs to the First Methodist Church. "Ben's a good kid."

"That may be, but if what Miss Mallory said is true, that's a pretty good motive to need to keep Jessica Stanley quiet."

"I still don't like it," he mutters, before pointing down the hall. "Pastor's study is this way."

I knock twice on the frosted glass and see the outline of a man rising from behind the desk. Opening the door, the man's eyes widen in surprise behind his glasses. "Chief Swan?"

"Hey Ben, got a few minutes?"

"Uh yeah, sure."

"This is Agent Cullen, he's assisting on the current investigations we have going."

He reaches out and shakes my hand. Easy smile, firm grip, not an ounce of apprehension in his face. "Nice to meet you."

The office is a disaster. Piles of papers strewn about on every surface. He has to clear our chairs of books and folders to sit down.

"Mr. Cheney, we're following up on some information we received with regards to Jessica Stanley."

The smile fades as he takes his seat across from us.

"Miss Stanley had been an involved member of your congregation as of late, correct?"

"Yes, she had."

"What was your relationship with Miss Stanley?"

"I was her youth minister and friend."

"I understand you're also engaged."

"I am." He gestures to a picture on his desk. "Angela and I've been together for years."

"Was she aware of your indiscretion with Miss Stanley in the choir room?"

Ben's eyes widen and he stands slowly and shuts the door. "No, she's not aware."

"Again, I'm going to ask you, Mr. Cheney. What was your relationship with Miss Stanley?"

"I was her youth minister and friend. That day, it was just … a momentary lapse of judgement. We were alone, she was … persuasive. I don't know." He swallows. "It meant nothing."

"Did it continue?"

"No. Not again. I made it a point to avoid her advances."

"Where were you the night of Miss Stanley's disappearance?"

"At a Christ in Youth conference in Seattle with Pastor Weber." He digs around in his desk drawers and procures a receipt. "Here's my hotel bill, and I'd be happy to provide names and numbers of folks who can confirm."

"That'd be great."

He rifles through another drawer, looking for a pen so I offer him mine and watch as he scribbles it down.

"Thank you, Mr. Cheney. We'll be in touch."

The minute we get in the car, Chief Swan turns to me. "Well?"

"He's not our guy."

"You haven't even checked his alibi."

"Didn't have to. Our killer is organized, and that kid is a mess. Not only that," I flick the list of names he scribbles down, "he's left-handed. Our killer's a righty based on the angle of the stab wounds."

"That was a big waste of time."

"Not necessarily."

"How do you figure?"

"Miss Mallory was right about her dalliance with Ben. Maybe there's a jilted lover among the fellas with an axe to grind."

"The only one of those guys who sends up a red flag is James Hunter."

"Why's that?"

"He's a reckless, mean little shit." He jabs his finger against the starter button. "Constant pain in my ass."

"Let's pay him a visit."

* * *

Gravel kicks up beneath the car as we turn into the trailer park. Residents look out their windows, watching the squad car roll by. We pull up to a run-down double-wide at the end of the court. There's a weight bench in the front yard with a long-haired blond man doing bicep curls and staring daggers at the car.

The chief shuts off the car and breathes in deeply through his nose. "Might be best for you to do the talking here. James and I have history."

"Will do," I say, opening the door and stepping out.

James sneers as we approach, switching the dumbbell from his right to his left hand. I note the flex of his bicep and forearm. Right-arm dominant. Thin, but fit. "Another visit from Forks' finest?"

I flash my identification. "Mr. Hunter, I'm Agent Cullen. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

"What're you trying to pin on me now, Chief?"

Chief Swan's lips press together tight, but he doesn't reply.

"We're following up on some information we received with regards to you and Jessica Stanley. We understand you two were once involved?"

"That was years ago."

"So, you _were_ involved?"

"Involved? Not so much. Hooking up here and there, yeah, sure. Why?"

"How did your involvement end?"

"With me staring down the barrel of her old man's shotgun and him telling me to steer clear of his daughter." He places the dumbbell on the ground and stands to his full height. I'm guessing six foot even, about 190 lbs. "What's this about?"

"What about Kate McCarty? Did you have any involvement with Kate?"

His eyes narrow and he folds his arms over his chest. "You like me for the murders, Chief?"

"Just answer the questions, James," he answers, widening his stance.

"I had nothing to do with Katie. Girls like her didn't look twice at guys like me."

"Girls like her?"

"Yeah. Uppity girls. Girls with standards, I suppose."

"And what about Emily Young?"

He shakes his head. "That's Brady's girl. Not my type." His lips curl into a shit-eating grin. "The chief's daughter on the other hand …"

"Where were you on the evening that Miss Stanley went missing?" I redirect, stepping in front of Charlie just in case he's feeling froggy.

"Same place I always am on Thursday nights. Playing darts over at the Taproom in Sequim, like I told the chief the first time he came to accuse me. Feel free to call down there, they've got my scores on record."

* * *

"I hate that son of a bitch," the chief mutters, slamming his car door. "Been dealing with his bullshit since he was fourteen-years-old when I found him and some boys out by Elk Creek, gutting a bullfrog."

"He has a history of hurting animals?"

"To my knowledge he hasn't done it since, but I caught him red-handed and he denies it to this day."

"What's his story?"

"Typical small-town dirtbag. His daddy was a drunk. Junkyard dog mean, too. Real rough with James and his mother. Can't say I was sad to hear he skipped town."

"And his mother?"

"Absent. Worked all hours at a nearby truck-stop until she died a few years back."

"Who does he run around with?"

"He's a bit of a loner. I see him out with a few of the guys from the lumber mill every now and again. What're you thinking?"

"He checks all the profile boxes, but …"

"But?"

"That doesn't matter if we can't place him at the scene."

* * *

"Well, well, well," Bella says when she sees me slip into the laundromat. "Wasn't sure you'd come."

"My motel doesn't have an iron in the room. I was hoping I could iron here." I hold up a few wrinkled shirts on hangers. "And _you_ promised baked goods."

"I did, didn't I?" She tosses a couple of towels in the washer and slams the door. "Good thing for you, I kept my word."

I watch her drop a few quarters into the slots and shove them into the machine. Her hair's down today, straight instead of wavy. It's longer than I realized. She's wearing light make-up and a pale pink sundress with a modest cardigan.

Pressing the button, she turns to me with a hand on her hip. "Profiling me, again, Agent Cullen?"

"Edward."

She smiles. "Edward …"

I glance down at her laundry basket and notice a book atop a pile of her delicates. "_Behave_," I read the title aloud. "_The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst_."

Picking it up, she clutches it to her chest as if embarrassed. "It was recommended to me."

"What's it about?"

"Why we do what we do. All of it. Free will, unconscious bias, culture, altruism …" Shrugging sheepishly, she tucks it back into her basket. "Anything that influences our decision making, really."

"The _whys_."

"Exactly."

From there, the conversation flows easily with me, setting up the ironing board, placing my shirt on it just so. And her, loading the rest of her clothes into the washers and teasing me about the amount of starch I use on my shirts.

"Are you calling me a stiff?"

"I would _never_," she counters, batting those long lashes and picking up a small container. "Peace offering."

"What is it?"

"Pistachio cupcakes." Popping the top, the smell of cake and almond waft in my direction. "Try one," she tempts, holding the green confection out in front of her.

Our fingers brush when I take it from her hand and her eyes stay on mine while I sink my teeth into the sweetness.

Her mouth opens slightly and her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. "Well?"

I swallow down the deliciousness. "You've ruined store-bought baked goods for me for life."

"I'm glad you like them." She looks away, busying herself with placing the top back on the tin. "These are yours, just bring the container back if you want more."

"I'll want more," I blurt before stuffing the rest of the cupcake into my mouth.

"I like that," she murmurs as a faint blush colors her cheeks.

I chew for a few seconds, trying to decipher her meaning. "What's that?"

She meets my gaze, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "A man who knows what he wants."

Before I can respond, she grabs her book and plops down in the seat beside her laundry basket. I'm left to my ironing, doing my best to focus on making my creases crisp instead of turning her words over in my mind. I feel her eyes on me as I turn the shirt right-side out. "What?"

"Were you in the military?"

"No. Why?"

"The way you iron. It's very precise."

"Nah, just a lot of practice."

"You seem pretty particular."

I smirk. "You profiling me, Psych Major?"

"Nope." She goes back to reading her book before adding, "I've got you figured out already."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the sweet responses to the story. Keep the guesses coming – I love hearing who you think did it.**

**I'm in Myrtle Beach this week, but sadly I've done very little reading (or writing). I do however have a WIP that we love, love, love.**

**Let It WIP fic rec**

_**Prima Facie**_** by jayhawkbb - ****Competitive. Argumentative. Condescending. Bella's arch-nemesis at the office is all of those things. So why is it so impossible for her to stop thinking about him? *Lay and Carrie stare at jayhawkbb the way we will be at dinner next week like Oliver Twist* Please jayhawkbb – we want some more.**

**Sound off, fandom – name a WIP that you'd do anything for an update for.**

**Thanks for reading : )**


	4. Chapter 4

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!  
**

* * *

"Someone trying to get ahold of you?" Chief Swan asks as my phone beeps in my pocket for the third time during our short car ride from the station to the McCarty family bakery.

I pull it out, grinning when I see her name on my screen and her three separate responses to my text from this morning requesting more cupcakes.

_You_

_Are_

_Ridiculous_

I feel the chief's eyes on me as I read then quickly shove it back in my pocket. "Uh yeah, a friend of mine."

His mustache lifts on one side before he focuses back on the road. "Mm hmm."

* * *

"Sorry, Chief," Emmett McCarty says, sliding a tray of bear claws into the glass display case. "Katie didn't have a boyfriend from Forks since high school."

"What about romantic interests?" Charlie probes. "Potential suitors?"

"From Forks?" He shakes his head. "Nope. She was in two serious relationships since she went off to college."

"What're their names?"

"Her ex is some guy she met at UDub. An exchange student from France named Laurent something or other. I don't know."

Grabbing his pen, he jots the number of donuts on a piece of paper while I make a few mental notes of my own. Right-handed. Pen strokes slant right and are applied with even pressure which is surprising given his sheer size. His hands are monstrously large, as are his arms and chest.

My thoughts are interrupted when he glances up and gives the chief a small smirk. "I liked her latest one a little bit more."

"The service man?"

Emmett nods. "Navy."

"What's his name again?"

"Diego Fuentes."

"Was Diego on leave recently?"

"No. Not unless he took a quick swim over here from where he's stationed."

"Hawaii?"

"Japan." He drums his fingers on top of the case, giving me a better look at his hands. No cuts or scratches, just a few burns. Probably an occupational hazard working in a bakery. "Yokosuka, I think. I don't know. They wouldn't give him leave for the funeral, so …"

"What about male friends?" I cut in. "Was she close with any of the guys from Forks?"

"Katie was friends with everyone. Everyone loved her." Smiling sadly, he drops his head to stare at his shoes. "She never knew a stranger."

"Em," a soft voice calls out from behind us. We turn to see a pretty, pregnant blonde woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen area cradling her stomach. "Can you fill the flour for me?"

"Yeah, sure, babe." He kisses her forehead as he passes and grabs a couple bags of flour of the floor and tosses them over his shoulders. I'm guessing they're about 40-50 pounds each. Definitely strong enough to strangle the life out of a 115-pound girl.

The blonde waits until he's out of earshot. "Chief, there was one guy that may've had some interest in Katie."

Charlie steps closer. "Who is it?"

"It was a fling between Laurent and Diego." Her voice lowers. "Emmett didn't know."

"What's his name, Rosalie?"

She swallows, making sure Emmett can't hear. "Jacob Black."

* * *

Gripping the steering wheel tight, Charlie eyes the small run-down cabin at the edge of town. "I'm gonna let you take this one."

"You have history with this one too?"

"Jake's father and I were best friends."

"Ah," I unbuckle my seatbelt, "so it's good history then?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Jake's had a rough couple of years. His mom died back in the fall of 2017. Lost his dad a couple of months ago and has been getting into trouble ever since." He tips his head side-to-side. "Mostly just disorderly conduct. A little hell-raising here and there."

"Is he a drinker?"

"He is."

"An alcoholic?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Can't hold his liquor then?"

"He's just angry." The chief shuts off the car. "Real angry."

I follow Charlie around the cabin back to a detached garage where the familiar chords of Rage Against the Machine's "Bulls on Parade" blast from a large subwoofer. Jacob Black has his back to us when we approach. He's easily six feet tall. Fit, but not as massive as Emmett McCarty. Based on the way he holds his wrench, I'd say he's right-handed.

"Hey Jake," Charlie calls out, stepping into the cramped garage lined with shelves of tools and worn out sporting goods. His space is tidy, but not particularly organized.

Startled, Jake turns, gripping the wrench tight only to relax when he sees the chief. "Charlie." A huge grin spreads over his face. "What's up?"

"Not much kid, just wanted to ask you a few questions."

The grin disappears. "About what?"

"Mr. Black," I take over, "my name is Agent Cullen. I'm with the FBI." I hold up my identification. "We're just following up on a few leads with regards to our current investigations."

"Leads?" The wrench is still clenched in his fist as he looks to Charlie. "Chief?"

Charlie holds up his palms to calm him. "It's just a few questions, kid."

Jacob's shoulders drop slightly and he tosses the wrench into the tool box on the floor before crossing his arms over his broad chest and leaning on the seat of the motorbike he's working on. "Fire away, then."

"Can you tell us about your relationships to Jessica Stanley, Kate McCarty, and Emily Young?"

"Relationships?"

"Yes." I nod. "Were you friendly with them?"

"Yeah. We weren't particularly close or anything, but they were nice girls."

"So, you _were_ friends?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Were you romantically involved with any of them at any point in time?"

His eyes narrow. "What're you getting at?"

"I'm just trying to clarify the nature of your relationships with the victims," I reply, keeping my voice even.

"Nothing romantic with Emily or Jess. Those two were acquaintances."

"And Miss McCarty?"

He inhales deeply through his nose and shifts his weight. "Katie and I had … I don't know … a moment where I thought we could be more, but that didn't pan out."

"A moment?"

"Yeah, last summer. She was rebounding from some guy she was with and I was happy to oblige."

"Did you want it to be more?"

"I wouldn't have minded."

"But _she_ didn't want it to be more?"

"Nope."

"Did she tell you why?"

He shrugs. "She didn't have to. I knew why."

"Why was it then?"

"Because it was a fling. Something to occupy her time here in Forks before she went back to college."

"Was your relationship with her a secret?"

"It _was_."

"Why the secrecy?"

"I don't know. Maybe that's how she got her kicks." He uncrosses his arms and shoves them in his pockets. "Secret hook-ups in Tillicum Park and late-night motorcycle rides to First Beach."

"When did it end?"

"When summer was over and she went back to school."

"How'd you leave it?"

"There wasn't any discussion. It was a 'see you when I see you' thing. No phone calls or texts. She came back at Christmas with a boyfriend, so that was a pretty good indication we were over. And besides, my life got a little complicated that fall. My dad wasn't doing so hot, so I was more focused on that than Katie."

"So, there was no bad blood?"

"None at all."

"Can you think of anyone who might've wanted to hurt her or any of the others?"

"No. I can't. Whoever it was … who did _that_ to those girls," he shakes his head slowly, "they're not from around here. _No one_ in this town is capable of that." Turning around, he grabs the motorbike and picks it up to adjust its position. "Any more questions?"

"Just one."

"Shoot."

"Where were you on the evenings that the girls went missing?"

"Probably here, either working on my bikes or sleeping."

"Was anyone with you that could corroborate that?"

He looks over his shoulder to Charlie, brows furrowed. "Chief?"

"Mr. Black," I press, "was there anyone with you that could corroborate that?"

"You can't seriously think that I—"

"Just protocol, Jake," Charlie reassures him.

"No," he concedes, "I was alone."

"If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

Charlie hangs back a moment, chatting quietly with Jake as I step out onto the gravel driveway. They're chucking about something when they emerge from the garage and based on the length between Charlie's hands, I'm guessing he's talking about fishing again.

"That fish gets bigger and bigger each time I hear that story, Chief."

Charlie laughs, clapping him on the back and pointing to the small boat beside the house. "You been on the water lately?"

"Nah," Jake shifts from foot to foot, "not since Dad passed."

There's a beat of silence before the Chief launches back into another one of his stories. Pulling out my phone, I snap a quick picture of the boat and zoom in on the knots used to keep the tarp down. Given how it's tied, I can tell it's not the lashings used by our killer. But given the complex knot, I'm certain that Jacob Black is no novice.

* * *

Hours later, Charlie and I call it a day and I head back to the motel. The thought of cooking doesn't appeal to me, but the thought of seeing a certain someone does. Grabbing my phone, I press on her name in my contacts and she answers on the second ring.

"Is this a butt-dial?"

I grin. "Is that how you always answer your phone?"

"I don't use my phone much for talking."

"That's a shame."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of an actual call?"

"I'm in the mood for Italian and I was wondering if you had any suggestions."

"Sure thing," I hear her adjust the phone before continuing, "the diner serves noodles and marinara that almost passes for spaghetti, and the gas station down the street from you has an Italian meatball sub which I wouldn't recommend unless you're _ridiculously_ hungover."

"Good to know."

"But if you're looking for something both traditional _and_ palatable, then you should try this spot in Port Angeles. It's a long ride, but the tortellini and wine selections alone are worth it."

I lean back against my counter. "Any chance you're up for taking a ride with me tonight?"

"Afraid you'll get lost?"

"Maybe I just enjoy your company."

"Maybe you just enjoy my cupcakes."

"Maybe I like both."

She laughs softly. "Then maybe it's a date."

* * *

"My parents split when I was about two," she tells me, rubbing the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger. "They did the joint custody thing. I lived with my mom and my stepdad during the school year in Arizona and my dad most summers in Forks up until I was about sixteen."

"What happened when you were sixteen?"

"My stepdad got a job managing a minor league baseball team in Jacksonville, Florida."

"The Jumbo Shrimps?"

Her brows furrow. "You've heard of them?"

"I worked a case in Jacksonville a few summers ago and went to a few games with my old partner who was friendly with the owner."

"Small world."

"So, your stepdad is Phil Dwyer?"

"The one and only."

"Interesting."

"How so?"

"He's," I pause, considering my words, "_younger_, right?"

She laughs. "Compared to my mom? Somewhat, I suppose. But it never seemed to bother them."

"Does it bother you?"

Taking a sip of her wine, she swallows as she gently sets her glass down. "Age is relative, don't you think?"

Her words are light, but there's a challenge there. I can't tell if I've touched a nerve or if she's tiptoeing around our age-gap.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"There's a lot to figure in there. Maturity, intelligence, shared interests …" I trail off, meeting her gaze. "Experience."

Her eyes stay fixed to mine, gleaming in the candlelight. "Attraction?"

_Definitely_. "Obviously."

She runs her teeth over her bottom lip, hiding a smile.

"But you never answered my question."

"What was your question again?"

"The age gap. Does it bother you?"

Circling the rim of her glass with her fingertip, she tilts her head. "Not in the slightest."

* * *

"There's this really great bookstore up a few blocks from here," she says, slipping her arm around mine as we leave the restaurant. "Do we have time to stop in?"

"Sure."

"Hopefully they have the book I want in stock."

"More recommended reading?"

"Something like that." Her hand slides down my forearm. "What about you? What do you like to read?"

I take her hand in mine. "You profiling me again, Psych Major?"

"Maybe."

"I like a little bit of everything."

"True crime?"

"I get enough true crime with my day job. Mostly I read biographies."

"That makes sense," she murmurs.

"How so?"

"Well biographies are usually the backstory about a person. What shaped and motivated them." She glances at me, rubbing her thumb against my skin. "It makes sense that would interest you."

"I suppose it does."

The book store is larger than I expected. Bella wanders off while I peruse the shelves of biographies and historical nonfiction. When I finally find her, she's tucked in a corner of the poetry section, engrossed in a book with her back to me. My approach is quiet and she doesn't seem to notice me until my lips are near her ear. "What're you reading?"

Eyes wide, she turns and backs up against the shelves with the book open and pressed tightly to her chest. "Jesus!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You scared the shit out of me," she whispers harshly.

My eyes drop to the title of her book and I read it aloud. "_Dirty Pretty Things_."

Her face flushes as she straightens and she averts her gaze.

"Are you," I pause and lower my voice, "are you blushing?"

"You'd blush too if you were reading this poem."

"I doubt it. I don't blush."

"Read it then." She pushes the book into my hands. "Out loud."

"Fine." I clear my throat then read the title. "Curious Girl."

"Keep going."

"She was a curious girl," I begin with a laugh, "who loved the smell of old books, chasing butterflies, and …" My mouth pops open at the next few words and glance up to meet the challenging stare of a pink-cheeked, yet smugly smiling Bella.

"Go on," she goads.

"And touching herself under the covers," I finish, snapping the book shut.

"Hmph."

"What?"

"You didn't blush."

"Told ya."

Grabbing the book from my grasp, she leans in. "I'm sure I'll figure out how to make you blush eventually."

* * *

"Come on," she holds a small piece of Dulce de Leche fudge up to me as we walk along the waterfront, "you have to try it."

"I _have_ to?"

She steps in front of me. "I insist."

"I don't know. I've recently been on the receiving end of a _pre-tty _stern lecture about store-bought baked goods."

"Confectioneries don't count."

"I don't recall that stipulation."

"Are you watching your waistline, Agent Cullen?"

"No, but I probably should given how often you try to tempt me with sweets."

"I _tempt_ you?"

"Frequently."

"You don't seem like the 'give in to temptation' type."

"Usually I'm not."

Eyeing me playfully, she pops the fudge into my mouth before bringing her hand to my chest and letting her fingers softly trail over the buttons of my shirt. "I wonder what else I could tempt you to do."

I swallow down the confection with a smile. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Inching closer, she traces a lone fingertip along my jaw but doesn't say a word. We're silent for several seconds, surrounded by the sounds of seagulls and the water lapping gently against the pier.

"Edward?" She hesitates, gazing up at me with widened, moonlit eyes. "Kiss me."

She looks gorgeous and hopeful and so fucking young. Despite this fact, I find myself lowering my face to hers. My hands grip the soft curves of her waist just as our mouths meet and she teases me with a few slow, lingering kisses before her lips curl into a smile against mine.

"Mmm," she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I'm half-tempted to ask you to do that again."

"Only half-tempted?"

She laughs. "Very tempted."

So I kiss her again right there. And then again against the passenger side of my car at the restaurant. And at every stop-light in Port Angeles and for a good ten minutes at her front door before asking to see her again tomorrow night.

This girl's kisses are like her cupcakes.

I'll never get enough.

* * *

**A/N: Tonight's update comes to you from TFMU in St. Louis. Want to send a shout out to our girl, Dee. Happy Birthday, pal!**

**The poem he read is from a book called Dirty Pretty Things by Michael Faudet. Two enthusiastic thumbs up on this book of poetry - it's sexy and sweet and super sensual. **

**We loved hearing what fics you're dying to get an update for - here are a couple of ours *Lay and Carrie ZM light a prayer candle*:**

**Shame by belladonnacullen ****\- She destroys him. He hides his disgrace. She manipulates. He dominates. She's driven by power. He's inspired by duty. Their corporate arrangement is motivated by shame. ExB, AH, Rated M.**

**Milk Teeth by sparrownotes - ****England 1991. Indie rock and bombs, fire and riots. We partied and ran wild, trying to find ourselves amongst the ashes. I found a lot more than that.**

**Sound off, fandom - tell us what is your most memorable fic line. Carrie and I have a few, but the one we love the most is from Stranger Than Fiction "Who did you wear it for?"  
**

**Keep your guesses coming - we love hearing them. Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, faved, rec'd or lurked this fic. See you on Thursday!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"So, I was thinking we could try this place in Sekiu tomorrow night," Bella suggests, stacking one of my undershirts into my laundry basket. "It's supposed to have good burgers and it's right by the bay."

"Mm hmm."

"But we don't have to if you're like … not up for it or whatever."

I toss my socks onto the folding counter and grab her hand, giving her a tight smile. "I'm up for it."

"Okay." Her voice softens. "Are you all right? You seem … off."

"I'm all right. Just a lot on my mind."

"The case?"

"Yeah."

"You probably can't talk about it, can you?"

I shake my head. "Nor would you want to hear about it."

She shrugs a shoulder. "I'm sure I could handle it."

"Trust me, you'll probably hear plenty of horror stories of your own once you become a practicing psychologist. You don't need to hear any of mine."

Her hand discreetly curls around my elbow and she leans in, "I'd like to if you'd let me."

I bend down to kiss her, but she pulls away.

"Not here," she whispers.

"Why?"

"Too many eyes."

I glance around, only seeing two other patrons in the laundromat. Thinking back over the time we spent together the past week, I slowly realize why we never dine in Forks. It's always secluded spots in Sequim and Sappho and Rialto Beach. "Am _I_ your secret, Psych Major?"

"No, but given that you're here to work a case, it wouldn't be prudent for the local gossip mill to get word that you may be distracted by a certain local girl."

"Fair enough."

She bumps my hip with hers and winks. "I'm open to distracting you plenty in the parking lot later though."

* * *

Opening one eye, I see the alarm clock blinking zeros and hear raindrops softly pelting against the side of the motel. I grab my ringing phone and see Chief Swan's number. Considering it's barely after five in the morning, I doubt he's calling with good news.

"Cullen," I mumble, rubbing my eyes as I sit up.

"We've got another missing girl," he says in place of a greeting.

"Is she a local?"

"Yeah. Her name is Maggie Garrett."

"Who called it in?"

"Her cousin did when he realized she didn't make it home last night. He's here at the station right now."

"I'll be there in fifteen."

* * *

Tapping his phone screen, Liam Garrett shows me the last time he spoke to his cousin. "I called her at 6:07 last night to see if she wanted to come with me to see a movie in Ocean Shores. She said _no_, that she was going to grab a DVD from Redbox and stay in." He sets it down in front of me. "I came home, saw the DVD on the coffee table, didn't think anything of it and went to bed."

"How did you discover she was missing?"

"Woke up early because I left my window open and I could hear my desk getting rained on. Went to check Mag's window and saw that her bed was made and her purse was on the counter," he puts his head in his hands, "but she wasn't there."

"Did you contact anyone to see if she was with them?"

He points to his recent calls again. "I called _seven_ people, four of which are family, the other three are her friends and co-workers from the Athletic and Aquatic Club. None of them had seen her since yesterday."

"Does Maggie have a significant other?"

"No, not to my knowledge."

"Is she seeing anyone?"

"Not that I know of."

"Any previous relationships that may still be relevant?"

"No. Mags isn't big on relationships or dating. She's one of the guys, just easy-going and fun, you know."

* * *

"Leah, you, Uley, and Ateara take this side of the trail." The chief motions towards the trees along the river. "Agent Cullen and I will take that side with Sheriff Whitlock. Radio in if you find anything."

"Here you go, girl," Officer Ateara places a red sweatshirt in front of his K-9, letting her sniff it thoroughly to catch Maggie's scent.

Moments later, they're off while we follow the La Push sheriff to search our side of the trail. We spread out, trying to cover as much ground as possible given the vast size of the forest. The minutes slip by like hours while we frantically search for a girl we hope we don't find out here. Hopefully she's safe and sound somewhere and all of this is for naught.

But then the dogs bark in the distance and all hope is lost.

The chief bows his head when we reach the crime scene. "Damn."

* * *

"Maggie Garrett," I say into my recorder as I kneel down beside her body. "Age 22. Found on Friday morning, June 29, 2018 roughly 500 feet away from the other crime scenes propped against a Hemlock tree. Victim was bound with a diagonal lashing, strangled, and stabbed, consistent with previous targets. Some bruising on the left side of the face and jaw. The victim is nude, apart from a pearl on a fish wire wrapped securely around her throat. Unsure of time of death, will wait for the M.E."

Chief Swan carefully slips the neatly stacked piles of clothing into the evidence bag beside me.

"Shorts, shirt, and sandals found folded in a pile beside the body. No undergarments or personal belongings, consistent with the other victims."

Shutting the recorder off, I stand and cast a glance over the crime scene which Uley is taping off while Deputy Clearwater snaps photos. Careful not to disturb anything, I walk around the perimeter hoping to find something the killer left behind. Sunlight peeks through the trees and a few chirping birds overhead watch us closely.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing to the glinting copper perch a couple of them are resting on.

Shielding her eyes, Leah looks up. "That's a hummingbird swing. They're all over this town."

"Why?"

"We've got an active Audobon chapter here in Forks."

My eyes move to the trees and note the marks in the bark where the climbing shoes dug into the trunk. Scanning the length of the tree, my guess is that the perch is about fifty feet off the ground. "Who hangs them?"

"Usually volunteers. Guys from the mill or anyone with climbing experience." She shrugs. "I can ask my mom, she's the interim chapter president now that Marjorie is gone."

"Take a picture of that, will you?"

"The birds?"

"Yeah." I point to the tree. "And the marks on the trunk."

"Gotta be thorough," she says, adjusting the lens.

"Always."

* * *

Notifying the family goes as expected. Maggie's mother crumbles in her husband's arms when Charlie confirms her worst fear. Her father stands stock still, staring at the chief's lips as if he doesn't understand what he's told him which isn't uncommon among survivors. As Mrs. Garrett's sobs get louder, Charlie drops his head, struggling to keep his composure.

"I'm very sorry this happened," I offer, stepping in when I realize the chief is unable to finish.

"I want to see her," Mr. Garrett says, finding his voice. "Now."

* * *

The medical examiner's head snaps up at the sound of the chief's knuckles rapping on the glass. She gives him a nod before dragging the zipper of the cadaver bag to the center of the deceased's sternum. Mr. Garrett sucks in a breath and his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"That's her," he confirms, pressing his forehead and his palms against the glass. "That's my Mags."

"I'm so sorry," Charlie replies quietly, running his fingers along the brim of his hat.

"You're sorry?" Turning to face us with teary eyes and his lips twisted in a sneer, he jabs an angry finger in the chief's direction. "You're _sorry_? That's all you got? What if this was your girl, huh? What if that was her in that bag?"

The chief's eyes water and move to Maggie, unable to look away from her lifeless body and bruised skin.

Shaking his head, he straightens and stands to his full height. "We're going to find him."

Mr. Garrett's nostrils flare and his eyes narrow. "You'd better."

* * *

"The FBI, Forks PD, and surrounding Clallam County law enforcement will continue to put all our efforts and resources into finding the perpetrator of these crimes," I say into the microphone, clutching the sides of the podium during the press conference a few hours later. "We only have time for a couple questions as we're eager to get back to the investigation."

The journalists and reporters all stand, shouting my name and waving their microphones. A petite brunette woman in the front with short dark hair and clunky glasses quietly holds her hand up. Given she's the only one not pushing or shoving a mic in my face, I call on her. "Yes, Miss…"

"Brandon. Alice Brandon." Snatching the pen from behind her ear, she brings her notepad up. "Thank you, Agent Cullen. I've noticed both you and Chief Swan have been very careful with your choice of wording when speaking about the perpetrator. Given the FBI's involvement and the killer's rising body count, is it safe to assume that Forks, Washington has a serial killer living among them?"

I glance at the chief, then back to the now silent reporters. "Yes," I answer honestly, "we do believe we're dealing with a serial murderer."

* * *

I pull into my motel parking lot a little after eleven. After what feels like the longest day, the last thing I want to do is sleep. I find myself walking in the direction of the bar across the street, relieved to see a certain psych major's truck parked out front.

The bar's practically empty and quiet, apart from The Rolling Stones blaring from the jukebox. An older man is working the bar with Bella tonight and he eyes me as she approaches wearing a pretty little sundress and a sad smile.

"How goes it?"

"It goes."

"What're you having?"

"Something strong." I take my seat. "Shitty, fucking day."

"I think that's the general feeling across the board," she murmurs, placing a shot glass in front of me and pouring some whiskey. "The town of Forks is typically synonymous with boredom, not serial killers."

"I gathered that."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." I slam the shot and set it down in front of her. "Another, please."

She pours some more and places the cap back on the bottle. "I understand."

"Distract me," I tell her, throwing the glass back and motioning for another.

She switches out the glass and makes it a double. "How?"

"Tell me about your last boyfriend."

"That's an odd request."

"I'm curious why you're still single."

"I could say the same thing."

I take my shot and set it down loudly. "There must be a story there."

"Not really." She tips the bottle once more. "His name was Paul."

"Paul," I repeat, trying to picture what he might've looked like. "Tell me about _Paul_."

"Nice guy. He was getting his doctorate while I was getting my bachelors."

"Older?"

She grins. "Maybe."

"If he was such a nice guy, why'd you two break up?"

"We weren't a good fit."

"Hmmph." I shoot my drink. "How long were you guys together?"

"Close to two years."

"Two years?"

"Yep."

I motion for another. "That's an awful long time to be with someone you weren't a good fit with."

The amber liquid splashes along the glass as she pours. "Like I said, he was a nice guy."

"_But_?"

"Buuuut, he was also kinda … _meh_."

"_Meh_ in general or _meh_ in the bedroom?"

Smiling, she screws the cap back on the bottle. "He was well-intentioned all-around."

I take my final shot and stand, setting a couple of twenties down on the bar with a chuckle. "Well-intentioned doesn't usually get the job done, does it?"

She stares at me wide-eyed, but doesn't reply.

"Call me if you need me to walk you to your car."

* * *

The pipes groan as I turn on the shower. Despite being an absolute shit-pit, the motel does have decent water pressure. I step in and dip my head under the spray. Images from the day play through my mind like snapshots as I scrub my hair and body. Maggie's lifeless eyes. The bruising. The blood. Her binds. The floating pearl around her throat. The sunlight through the branches and the curious looks from the birds. Mrs. Garrett's sobs. Mr. Garrett's fury.

I lean against the cold tiles before turning the shower off. After wrapping a towel around my bottom half, I move to stand in front of the steam-covered mirror. Just as I go to wipe it off, I hear a soft knock against my door.

Another knock sounds when I slip out of the bathroom. I consider grabbing my gun from the table by the window until I peek through the blinds and see Bella nervously standing outside my door.

"What're you doing out here?" I ask as I open the door and pull her in. "It's not safe."

Shutting the door behind her, she backs up against it. "Waylon let me off early, and I …" She trails off, letting her eyes move down my chest then back up to my face. "I wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

Pressing her back against the door, she licks her lips. "Are _you_ well-intentioned?"

I shake my head. "Not even a little bit."

"So, you're experienced then?"

"Probably no more than you."

"Then how can you be so sure of yourself?" She smirks. "_Hypothetically speaking_."

"Well," I brace my palms on the door on either side of her head. "Hypothetically speaking, I'm certain that a _curious girl_ like yourself would tell me if I asked her to," I bring my lips to her ear, "exactly what she does when she's touching herself under the covers."

I hear her sharp inhale and feel her fingertips sliding up my stomach.

"I'd ask to see you." I skim my nose along her cheek. "I'd watch."

Her hand curls around my neck, while the other reaches for my arm. "Touch me," she begs.

"Show me," I counter, pulling back so I can see her. "Show me what you do under the covers."

For a split-second, all traces of the self-assurance she carries herself with fades and she appears timid and unsure.

Vulnerable.

I open my mouth to reassure her she doesn't have to when she slips her fingers underneath the straps of her dress and lowers them down her arms.

My eyes follow her movements. The way her fingertips ghost along her cleavage before dipping down to unfasten the three small buttons holding the top of her dress together, and how she lets the fabric slink down to her waist. She palms the lacy cups of her bra, squeezing her breasts together in her hands. I press my forehead to hers and watch her fingers slide beneath the lace. She moans softly and lets her eyes fall closed as her hands clutch and knead the flesh while her thumbs circle and swipe at her tightening nipples.

"Jesus," I groan, reaching down to adjust myself over my towel.

The corners of her mouth curve upwards as her hand inches lower, over the bunched-up dress clinging to her hips and disappearing between her thighs. Spreading her legs, she gives me a glimpse of her pink polished nails firmly pressing into damp white cotton.

Lost in her own pleasure, her hips move with her hands and her chest heaves as her breathing gets faster. She opens her eyes, watching me, watching her before arching a brow. "Are you profiling me again, Agent Cullen?"

"I can't help it," my grin matching hers as I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, "I'm a visual learner."

"Interesting," she whispers, gripping my other hand cupping my dick and placing it between her legs. "I prefer the more hands on approach."

And with that, she presses her mouth to mine and plunges my fingers beneath the cotton and into her warmth. She guides my movements, showing me where and exactly how she likes to be touched.

Breaking the kiss, she brings her lips to my earlobe, biting it gently between her teeth before flicking it with her tongue.

"Just like that," she breathes with a roll of her hips. "Don't stop."

I feel her fingertip dip beneath my towel, loosening it until it hits the floor. A low curse escapes my lips which makes her smile.

"Show me," she murmurs, sliding a finger along my length.

Pulling our hands from between her legs, I wrap her sticky, wet fingers around my cock. She jerks me slow, matching our strokes with the pace of our heated kissing.

"Like this?" she pants into my mouth.

"Yeah," I grunt when she tugs a little harder. "_Fuck_."

Hitching her leg up, I slip my hand back under her dress, pressing and rubbing her the way she likes until her thighs clench and I hear her moan my name. Her hand moves faster around me and her kisses trail down my throat, licking and sucking the spot beneath my jaw until I'm groaning, tipping my head back and squeezing my eyes shut tight as I come. We stay like that for a few moments, until our breathing slows and she untangles herself from my grasp. She straightens her clothes while I retrieve my towel and when I look up, she's buttoning her top and wearing that playful smirk again.

"Good night, Edward," she purrs, turning the door knob and opening it just enough to slip outside. "Perhaps next time I can show you what _else_ I enjoy doing under the covers."

She's half-way across the parking lot when I'm finally able to reply. "I look forward to it."

* * *

**A/N: You guys, TFMU was EVERYTHING! So, so much fun! Loved meeting readers and writers and all the wonderful folks that make this fandom special. I strongly encourage you attend one if you can – two enthusiastic thumbs up.**

**This week, we've selected a WIP that's as near and dear to us as the lady writing it. Our own planetblue.**

**Zuma by planetblue - He may be dating my step-sister, but it doesn't stop me from wishing he were mine. *Lay dons the feathered Farrah look while Carrie ZM sips her TAB* Perfect beachy summer fic- relive the seventies with one of our faves. It's fab, fab, fab!**

**Sound off, fandom – what fic absolutely ruined you? **

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, rec'd, followed, fave'd, and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"What the fuck?" I grumble at the sound of my phone vibrating on the night stand. Opening one eye, I see my director's name on the screen. "Cullen," I answer, unable to hide my agitation at being woken at quarter to five in the morning.

"Oh shoot," Esme replies, "I always forget the time change."

"I figured."

"While I've got you though, I wanted to see how the investigation's going."

"Uh yeah, give me a sec." Turning the bedside lamp on, I stand and head over to the desk where the files are spread out. "Since Maggie's murder last week, we've interviewed twenty-seven people pertaining to her death. In addition, we spoke with about sixteen people close or familiar with Emily Young."

"And?"

"And there's still no clear connection between the victims other than they're local girls."

"Forensics come back with anything?"

"Nope." I glance up at the map of Forks. "We've increased patrols at the entry points where the killer may be bringing the girls into the forest and hooked up some deer cameras around the trails. Although with Maggie, he strayed further away from the previous crime scenes."

"Any other deviations?"

"Just one. Jessica and Kate were stabbed seventeen times. Emily was stabbed eighteen."

"And Maggie?"

"Twenty." I run a finger over the medical examiner's up-close photo of the wounds. "Twenty purposeful, deep, clean stab wounds."

"Was the M.E. able to identify the type of knife being used?"

"Yeah, we're looking at an 8 ¾" Cold Steel Boar Hunter knife."

"A _boar hunting knife_," she repeats, "that's a first."

"It's efficient, I suppose. It's sharp and precise and quick."

"I'm sure any knife would be effective if your victim is bound and unconscious."

"It's ritual for him. Purposeful, I think. There's a reason he chose it, whether he's actually a boar hunter or maybe even how he views his victims."

"Disgusting."

"It is, but nothing this guy does is an accident."

"Any idea on a motive?"

"Not yet. I've got Carlisle in the Cyber Division checking chat rooms of incels, but there have been no hits from Forks."

"Involuntary celibates, huh? Interesting. What about pornography?"

"He's looking into that, too. As far as he can tell, the good people of Forks, Washington have a healthy appetite for lesbian and lumberjack genres, but nothing sending up red flags on the forced or bondage front."

"Lumberjacks are a genre?"

"Evidently, as is naked wood chopping and flannel fetishes."

"Bizarre."

"Probably more wholesome than a genre search of our nation's capital."

"True," she agrees with a sigh. "What's the plan for the holiday?"

"The entire unit is working double shifts to cover the festival and the fireworks. La Push is sending over patrols to cover the points of entry this evening."

"Sounds like you've got your bases covered then. Keep me posted."

* * *

Hours of tossing and turning later, I finally drag myself out of bed to go for a badly needed run. The cupcakes and dinner dates are catching up with me and by the time I reach my third mile it shows. I'm huffing and puffing as I round the corner near the Elks Lodge.

"Looking good, Agent Cullen!" Bella calls out from beside her pick-up truck.

"Hey," I say breathless, my grin probably coming out more like a grimace even though I'm genuinely glad to see her. With all the extra hours I'm putting in, I've only been able to see her a couple of times in the past week, but we've talked and texted nearly every day.

"I didn't know you were a runner."

"I'm more of a treadmill guy."

Smiling, she pulls her hair up into a high ponytail.

"What're you up to this early?"

She nods towards the lodge. "Helping my dad serve the pancake breakfast."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's kind of a 4th of July tradition for us."

"What about tonight?"

"Beer tent by the park until eleven."

"Eleven?" I ask, resting my hands on my hips, still trying to catch my breath. "I thought Waylon was sending you girls home at a reasonable hour. That's kind of late, isn't it?"

"Okay _Dad_."

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Perhaps you should come see me if you're so worried about the late hour."

"Wish I could."

She lowers her gaze. "I get it."

Stepping closer, I tip her chin up. Her eyes sweep across the area before meeting mine. "I'll definitely try though."

* * *

"Whatcha looking at?" Leah asks, sliding a cup of coffee beside my laptop.

"The knife. It's discontinued online and has been for a few years."

"So, you're thinking he got it from a private seller then? Like a gun or hunting show."

"Maybe."

"Let me see this." She grabs the print-out and inspects it closely. "Big Tom may be able to help."

"Who's Big Tom?"

"He owns the sporting goods store at the end of Forks Avenue," Charlie answers, walking into the office holding up a plastic bag. "Pancakes from the Elks."

I dip my chin. "Chief."

"What's Big Tom helping us with?"

"This," Leah replies, handing him the knife specs. "It's been discontinued for a while, but I figured he may be familiar with sellers."

"Or buyers," I add.

Charlie agrees with a shrug. "Suppose it's worth a shot."

* * *

"What kind of lure you looking for today, Charlie?" a broad, gruff, gray-haired man asks from behind the counter as we enter Newton's Outfitters.

Waving the file folder, the chief smirks. "No lures today Tom, but I could use your assistance on something. Mind if we speak in private though?"

"Mike," Big Tom barks over his shoulder and a tall, built, younger version of himself comes ambling out from an aisle.

He grins when he sees the chief. "Hey Charlie!"

"Watch the register," Big Tom grumbles before leading us back to his office. "What can I help with?" he asks, closing the door behind us.

"Tom, Agent Cullen and I were hoping you could take a look at something. This is official police business, so I'd appreciate your discretion."

"Of course."

Opening the folder, Charlie shows him the information. "Cold Steel Boar Hunting knife. It was discontinued a few years ago, but we were wondering if it was ever available here at Newtons."

"I remember it." Big Tom's eyes narrow. "We carried a few, but they didn't sell. Not much of a boar hunting market here in Forks."

"Any chance they're still on your shelves?" I ask, hopeful for any break.

He shakes his head. "Nah, we sold 'em off."

"Do you know who you sold them to?"

"Typically, we sell our overstock off to a surplus buddy of mine down in Portland, but let me check right quick." He reaches for a large binder and flips through pages and pages of neatly handwritten sheets.

"You don't keep electronic records?"

"Nope. Been doin' it this way since I opened in '87. Hasn't failed me yet."

"You're showin' your age, Tom," the chief jokes, plopping down in seat by the desk. "A computer would make this a helluva lot faster."

"What? You got a hot date with a fishin' pole or something, Swan?"

"I wish."

They both chuckle, but stop abruptly when Big Tom places a finger down in his binder. "Looks like we unloaded those about three years ago to Arthur Connor, a surplus buyer from Aberdeen."

"You know where we can find him?" I ask, getting my notepad ready.

"About six-feet-under at the Fern Hill Cemetery." Big Tom looks up at me. "Had a massive heart attack at the salmon bake up in Lake Sylvia last year."

I resist the urge to ask if Harry Clearwater's fish fry was involved. "Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, me too." He shuts the binder. "His old lady brought some company in and held an estate sale to get rid of all his goods. I guess she was in a bad way monetarily when he passed."

"Looks like another dead end," Charlie mutters, slumping in his seat.

"You think this is the weapon he's using?"

Neither Charlie nor I reply which may as well be a confirmation for Big Tom.

Eyeing the print out once more, Big Tom shakes his head. "That's a sick individual you're dealing with there."

* * *

"Ten minutes 'til fireworks," Charlie says into the portable mic attached to his lapel. "I want everyone to maintain their positions on the perimeter."

"Copy that, Chief," Sam's voice cracks over the radio, followed by a confirmation from Leah and a couple of the guys from Sequim.

"Agent Cullen is going to the Pine Street entrance, and I'll remain at my post on Lupine."

I make my way over to Pine Street, careful not to step on the blankets on the grass and dodging kids haphazardly waving their sparklers.

"Beer, here," Waylon's voice booms from a nearby tent. "Get your ice-cold beer."

Bella's beside him, laughing as she chats up a few fellas. I glance around once more, not seeing anything suspect in the general vicinity before heading closer to the tent to keep my eye on things on Pine Street. Fireworks light up the night sky, rumbling and thundering while the good people of Forks _ooh and ahh_ from below. Nearly everyone stops and stares apart from the guys crowding Bella's area.

Smiling wide, Jacob Black sways ever so slightly before catching his balance with the help of a nearby table, while Mike Newton sips his draft and watches for her reaction. Beside him is a shorter, stockier man who I'm guessing is the other Newton boy given his face and build are almost identical to Big Tom. He's leaning over the bar, trying to get Tanya's attention as she fiddles with the tap while James Hunter mills about on the fringes of the tent.

"Sorry Ty," I hear Tanya say as I get closer.

"Come on, Tan," he counters, running a finger down her arm, "just do one shot with me."

"Can't. I'm working." She gives him a wink before picking up her tray. "Maybe later."

"This one's on me, Ty," Bella offers him a beer to get his attention away from Tanya who's now speaking closely with a smug looking James. "Happy Fourth, buddy!"

Accepting the drink with a grin, he lifts a glass and motions for Jacob and Mike to do the same. "To Bells."

"To Bells," they repeat before chugging down their beers like a bunch of frat boys.

They continue like that for the next couple of hours, toasting loudly and drinking until Waylon yells 'last call'. The Newton boys get to work, folding up chairs and tables at the insistence of their father, who's double fisting two drafts, while Jacob struggles to remain upright, leaning heavily against a tent pole.

"You need a lift home, Jake?" Bella asks, wiping down the makeshift bar.

"I'm fine." He waves her off, nearly losing his balance.

Tanya slips beneath his arm. "I'll take ya home, sugar."

"Be safe, you two," Bella calls after them with a grin.

Behind her, Mike Newton watches them leave before casting a glance at his brother just as the chief's voice sounds over the radio, letting me know the park is all clear.

"Pine Street entrance is almost clear," I reply into the speaker, making my way over to Bella. "Beer tent is still up, but they're working on tear down as we speak."

"Well, hi there," she dumps a few napkins and half-empty glasses into a garbage bag, "I didn't think you were going to come say hello."

"Sorry about that." I shrug a shoulder. "Can't get distracted when I'm working."

She lowers her voice suggestively. "Am I distracting, Agent Cullen?"

"Incredibly so."

Amused, she hums and goes back to collecting the trash.

"I was thinking I'd like to take you out tomorrow night. Make up for the fact that I haven't been around much this week."

"You don't need to make anything up to me."

"Maybe I just want to see you then."

"Of course you do." She winks. "I'm a delight."

I shake my head with a laugh. "That you are, Psych Maj – "

"Bells," the stocky guy cuts in, eyes shifting back and forth between us, "you need us to load up the unused kegs?"

"Uh yeah, that'd be great, Ty. Just throw them in Waylon's truck."

He does a two-finger salute before turning and hoisting the keg up onto his shoulder while his brother lifts the other and calls out to Bella. "See you on Monday."

"See ya, Mike! Thanks, boys." She watches them walk away before looking back to me. "So, yeah. I should probably get back to it, but, um … I wouldn't mind spending some time with you either."

"So, it's a date then?"

Backing away, she gives me a quick wave. "I'll see you soon."

* * *

An hour later, I'm nursing a beer and poring over the case files at the small desk in my motel room. My eyes scan the interviews and photos looking for anything we missed when I hear a soft knock at the door.

Opening it slowly, I peer through the crack. She's leaning against the brick swinging a small plastic bag around her finger. Her hair is damp like she just got out of the shower and she's changed into one of her little sundress numbers. I pull her inside. "You _do_ know there's a serial killer out there, right?"

"I figured I'd be safe here," she counters playfully with her fingers creeping their way up my shirt-covered stomach. "Plus, you said you wanted to see me, so I thought I'd pencil myself in for a visit." Lifting up on her tip-toes, she presses a soft kiss to my lips. "Lucky you, right?"

I chuckle and shut the door behind her as she steps further inside, still swinging the bag around her finger. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"Not particularly," she answers, taking a look around the room then back at me. "I missed the fireworks."

"So did I."

She steps closer. "Fireworks are my favorite."

"They're all right."

Her mouth finds mine again, kissing me hard as she knots her fingers in my hair. We're both breathless when she pulls away. She slaps the bag against my chest, holding it there for a beat before whispering softly, "I _want_ to see fireworks."

She leaves me there, clutching the bag and watching her slip the sundress up over her head before tossing it haphazardly on the floor. Her sandals go next, kicked off in the other direction. She faces me again and lowers herself to the bed wearing nothing but black lace underwear and a smile.

I glance down to take a peek inside the bag and instantly realize that the fireworks she wants to see aren't of the sparkler variety. "A twelve pack, huh?" I joke, pulling out the box of rubbers. "That's a hell of a lot of fireworks."

She smirks. "Think your ticker can take it?"

Tossing the condoms on the nightstand, I climb onto the bed. "I guess we'll find out."

"Wait a sec." She presses her toes to my chest, stopping me in my tracks. "Lose the shirt." Shrugging it off and dropping it beside her dress, my efforts to get on the bed are again thwarted by her foot sinking lower down my stomach. "And the pants."

Amused, her eyes stay on me while I unbuckle my belt as she leans back on her elbows. My pants hit the floor and my fingers slip beneath the waistband of my boxers, but then I think better of it. "You're gonna have to work for these, Psych Major."

"Tease."

The bed dips beneath us as I climb on top of her to kiss her soft and slow. Her fingers find my hair while mine trail up her legs from her ankles to her thighs. "I'm no tease," I murmur against her lips before sliding my mouth lower, sucking and licking my way down her body until I'm staring up at her from between her parted thighs.

Her breath hitches when I press a soft kiss to the edge of the lace before dragging them down her legs.

"Oh God," she softly whimpers, bringing her hands to her sides and gripping the sheets beneath her in anticipation. "Please."

I chuckle just above her petal pink softness meeting her eager gaze before covering every sensitive inch with my mouth. Her back arches and her eyes squeeze shut with every swipe, lick, and touch of my tongue. I feel her fingers in my hair and hear a panted _more_ fall from her lips, so I give her my fingers and teeth and dirty whispered words that make her cheeks blush and her thighs tremble until she collapses back into the pillows, blissfully breathless.

"Fireworks?" I ask, kissing my way back up her body, stopping only to wind my tongue around a nipple before drawing it into my mouth, earning me another moan.

"Mmm, yes." She smiles as I slip over to the other breast. "Definitely fireworks."

I kiss her lips. "Good."

Pushing me back onto the bed, she straddles my waist with a wicked grin. "Your turn."

I close my eyes and savor the feel of long, loud, open-mouth kisses being placed on my chest and her tongue tracing the lines of my stomach. Her fingers creep beneath the waistband of my boxers and she tugs them down slowly until I hear them hit the floor. The bed shifts and I hear the shuffle of the bag then the box being ripped open.

When I peek open an eye, I see her there, carefully tearing the package. My fingertips brush the tops of her thighs, rubbing small circles with my thumbs as I watch her slowly slide the rubber down my shaft. Her lips curve up on one side and she takes my cock into her hand, bringing my hard to her soft and teasing the tip to the spot that made her tremble and pant just minutes before.

I swallow hard, watching her eyes fall closed and her head tip back as every inch of me disappears inside of her. Her hips rock and circle slow and her hands reach for mine. Pressing our palms together, she moves over me, gripping my fingers tightly with hers. Her teeth dig into her lip when I match her movements with thrusts of my own.

"I can't … Too good," I grunt, grabbing her hipbones. "You feel too fucking good."

"It's too good?" she asks with another twist of her hips, her voice baby soft.

My jaw tightens and my fingers clutch her, stilling her movements. "You have no idea."

Pleased with herself, she leans down to peck me on the lips before whispering, "I'm gonna make you blush, Agent Cullen."

Her hands slide up her body, pressing her tits together and throwing her head back as her hips rock wildly back and forth, getting hers because she knows I'm mere moments from getting mine.

I stutter out her name followed by a string of curse words when I lose it inside of her. We lay there, chest to chest, catching our breath and clinging to one another until she lifts her head and brushes the pad of her thumb over my cheek.

"Am I blushing?"

She grins. "Not nearly enough."

* * *

Hours later, she's curled up beside me asleep while I lie there restless. I sneak to the kitchenette and grab a bottle of water, my case file catching my eye as I go. Unable to help myself, I turn on the desk lamp and take a peek, reviewing and comparing the crime scenes. I flip through the photos. The trees. The bindings. The pearl on a wire. The bruises. Over and over again in hopes that I see something I missed.

The only thing I miss is hearing Bella get out of the bed. I'm startled when I feel her hands wrap around my waist from behind.

"Can't sleep?" she asks, pressing a kiss to my spine.

"Nope."

She dips under my arm and gasps when she sees what I'm looking at. "Jesus Christ." Her words are muffled when she burrows her face into my chest.

"I'm sorry," I quickly close the file, "you shouldn't have seen that."

She swallows as she looks up at me, horrified. "Was that Maggie?"

I nod.

"Fuck," she breathes, shaking her head. "That's sick."

"It is."

"Something must have set him off."

My brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Something triggered … _that_." She jerks her chin toward the folder.

"What? Like an event?"

"An event or an encounter. I don't know, _some_ kind of incident had to set that in motion."

I mull this over as I turn off the light. She's not wrong. Lots of times something does set it off, but typically that's the case with killers who act on impulse. Nothing about this guy is impulsive. At least not as far as I can tell.

"I suppose that's something to consider."

Her fingers skim up my stomach. "Perhaps you should consider coming back to bed."

I grin. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." She pecks my lips. "You're going to _need_ your rest to keep up with me."

Something tells me she's right about that … as she is about most things.

* * *

**A/N: You guys are making this so much fun with all of your guesses and theories! Keep them coming!**

**I'm a total WIP fail this week because I'm doing a read-along of Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid with Carrie ZM, AKABrattyVamp, and drivingedward. Pals - this book is fantastic! Highly recommend!**

**Sound off, fandom - what's your perve swerve when reading lemons? Do you like your lemons down and dirty or would you prefer them be tasteful with a side of church tongue? We're feeling lemony and curious to know which lemons are like Baby Bear's porridge for you ... just right.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic. See you Thursday!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!  
**

* * *

"Maybe the profile isn't entirely accurate," Leah suggests, pointing to the dates of the murders on the calendar. "He doesn't seem to have a set window between kills. Maybe he's more impulsive than we initially thought."

I shake my head. "I don't think he's impulsive. I think he's establishing the comings and goings of his victims and striking when it's opportune for him."

"There's less time between the killings, though."

"He's getting better at it."

"That's reassuring."

"It's true, though. He's getting better at eluding, too." I stand and point to the crime scenes. "He's expanding the killing field. Getting further and further from his initial area."

"Hopefully the deer cams will catch something." She grabs another file folder and opens it. "I'm going to check through the interviewees again."

My phone vibrates on the table with a text from Bella. _Chinese food or pizza?_

I type back quickly. _Your call._

Her reply is instant._ You always say that._

I smile because she's right – I do always say that, or at least I have been saying that for the past couple of weeks since the 4th of July because we've been spending every free moment we have together.

Another text comes in. _Chinese it is._ _What do you want?_

I smile as I message her back. _Surprise me. _

The phone rings seconds later. "Hello?"

"Like show up in a trench coat surprise you, or …" she trails off with a laugh.

I glance up to make sure Leah's not listening in. "I'm agreeable to that."

"Not happening. Seriously though, what do you want?"

"Anything sounds good to me, just, uh … call me when you're on your way so I can meet you in the lot."

I hear her groan and I'm almost certain she's rolling her eyes like she does anytime I mention her apparent indifference to the madman hunting young women in Forks. "Ugh, fine."

The door opens behind me and Chief Swan walks in. "I gotta go." She mumbles an _okay_. "Be safe."

"What've we got?" Charlie asks, staring at Leah and I expectantly.

She shakes her head. "Nothing new, just going through the timeline and the interviews again."

"All right," he takes a seat and slaps his newspaper onto the table, "let's take it from the top, starting with Jess."

"May 3rd," Leah reads aloud, "Jessica Stanley leaves her mother's house to get an ice cream."

I circle the date and Bella's words come back to me from a couple of weeks before. _A trigger_. Admittedly, I've been distracted with interviewing and re-interviewing people close to the investigation. So much so that I haven't had time to check out possible triggers. My eyes move to The Forks Forum newspaper in front of Charlie. Angling my head, I read bold-face titles on the front page. The headline is Clallam County burn restrictions in effect and beneath that is a tribute to a local log show competitor. The right-hand corner is reserved for Forks Police Department curfew and safety information, as well as the toll-free number to report any leads.

"You guys keep going, I'm going to run an errand," I tell them, grabbing my notes and standing to leave. "Call me if you catch anything we missed."

Charlie gives me a thumbs up. "Will do."

* * *

Pulling up in front of the beige-sided building that looks more like a house than a newspaper publisher, I see a tall, lanky man with chin-length black hair leaning against the building smoking a cigarette and watching me closely.

"Good afternoon," I say, climbing out of my car and nodding to the front door. "Do you work here by chance?"

Flicking his cig, he stands to shake my hand. "I do. Eric Yorkie, Editor-in-Chief. You're the Fed, right?"

"That's me," I shake his hand, "Agent Edward Cullen."

"Are you giving us an exclusive?"

"Afraid not, but I'd like to search your archives if I could."

"All right." I follow him through the front office to a storage room in the back of the building. "Most recent editions start over here. Shelves are sorted by month and year." He thumbs towards the door. "If you need anything, I'll be around the corner in my office."

"Thanks."

I sift through article after article from the week of and several weeks prior to the first murder. There's nothing even remotely eyebrow-raising happening in the town apart from a VFW Groundbreaking in Neah Bay, an update on the Highway 101 project, and an amusing grievance aired about dog poop in the _Grins and Gripes_ column. Hours later, I'm just about to hang it up when I see a familiar last name in the obituaries.

**_ William "Billy" Black, a longtime elder of the Quileute Nation died on April 21, 2018. He was 58._**

**_ Billy was a well-respected Tribal Council leader, proud father, and avid fisherman. _**

**_ He is preceded in death by his loving wife, Rachel, and is survived by his son, Jacob _**

_** Potlatch services will be held the A-Ka-Lat Center in La Push on Wednesday evening**. _

"Twelve days prior," I mutter to myself as I jot down the date in my notes followed by a possible motive. _Triggering event?_

"You doing okay in here?" Eric Yorkie asks, peeking his head into the room.

"Uh, yeah." I click my pen closed. "I think I've got what I need, thanks."

"Let me know if you need to go through more."

"I will."

"And if you change your mind on that exclusive …" He lets that hang there a moment, half-grinning.

"I'll let you know."

* * *

"Good day?" I ask, watching Bella pull the Chinese cartons out of a paper bag.

"Eh," she shrugs, "an interesting day, I suppose." Handing me some napkins, she grins. "Got to sit in on a PTSD support group and observe."

"How'd that go?"

She blows out a breath. "It was _a lot_, seeing how hard they work to manage their day-to-day. Pretty heavy stuff. What about you?"

"Nothing terribly heavy today, spent the majority of it at The Forks Forum."

Her brows furrow. "Why?"

I pull out an egg roll. "Researching for the investigation."

"You know you can _share_ things with me, right?"

"I share things with you."

"Ha!" She shakes her head and grabs a fortune cookie. "No, you don't."

"What do you want to know?"

"Lots of things."

"Such as?"

"Like," taking a deep breath, she looks up at the ceiling before meeting my gaze, "have you been married before? Or where were you born? Or do you have siblings? Or –"

"Whoa," I cut her off with a smirk, holding up my hand. "Slow down, Psych Major."

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Just give me a chance to answer."

"You mean you don't want me interrogating you?"

I laugh. "Not particularly, but I'm not opposed to answering your questions."

Tearing the plastic off her cookie, she snaps it in half. "We can take turns if you'd like."

"All right. I'll start. No, I haven't been married before. Chicago born and bred. One sibling, an older brother named Beau."

"Are you guys close?"

"Close enough." I take a bite out of my egg roll and chew slowly, watching her read her fortune. "What does it say?"

"Don't pursue happiness; create it."

"That's some sound advice."

"It seems to work well enough for me." Tossing the cookie, she reaches for one of my egg rolls. "So never been married, huh? Ever been close?"

I shake my head. "Maybe if my last girlfriend had something to say about it, but no, not really."

"Tell me about her."

"Not much to tell. Her name is Heidi. Great girl, brilliant, kind, an agent at the bureau."

"_But_?"

"But we wanted different things."

"Marriage?"

"Kids."

Nodding, she looks away and opens another carton.

"What about you? Was Paul your only serious relationship?"

A big smile spreads across her face. "No. Before Paul I had someone pretty incredible, too."

I take a page from her book. "_But_?"

"But Emmett wanted a life in Forks after college with kids and running the bakery and whatnot."

My eyes widen. "Emmett McCarty?"

"Yep." She tips her head to the side. "We met when I was sixteen and he was almost eighteen. First love and all that. After I graduated, I think he thought I'd follow him to college, but I decided on a gap year and spent a few months backpacking in Europe."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"I'm starting to question your self-preservation skills."

She rolls her eyes. "Anyway, we broke up shortly after but are still good friends."

"Were you friends with Kate?" She nods. "Close friends?"

"Not really, but we were friendly."

"What about–"

"My turn," she cuts me off, tearing off a piece of her egg roll. "What were you doing at The Forks Forum today?"

"That's police business."

"You said research though. Maybe I could help."

"How so?"

"Fill in the blanks. Maybe offer a more _local_ perspective."

"Oh yeah? Gonna connect the dots on how the Highway 101 project is connected to a serial murderer?"

"If you'll let me."

I snort, digging into the rice carton. "I went looking to see if there was a trigger because the way I see it, someone farts in Forks and it's newsworthy."

She laughs. "The Grins and Gripes column, right?"

"It's the pettiest thing I've ever seen."

"So, no sign of a trigger then?"

"Not unless someone went bat shit over fist-sized dog turds in their yard."

"Hmm," she says before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. "I'm trying to think of the months leading up to the murders."

"Pretty uneventful right?"

"Sort of. I just remember when they found Jess thinking that bad things happen in threes."

"Threes?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's probably just apophenia, but it's hard not to look for patterns to get order out of disorder. I just remember having that thought when everything happened. First Billy Black died and it was so, so sad because it was totally preventable."

"How'd he die?"

"Drank himself to death. I don't think he wanted to be here anymore after his wife passed. It was just so upsetting watching Jake deal with that."

"Jake Black?"

"Mm hmm."

"Are you guys friends?"

"Yes."

"Good friends?"

"Yeah."

"Ever date him?"

"He wishes."

"What else happened that made you think bad things come in threes?"

"Marjorie's death. It was_ totally_ expected but so heartbreaking nonetheless. Big Tom and the boys seemed relieved she was no longer suffering, but the goodbye was _really _long and painful."

"What happened?"

"Huntington's disease. It was pretty brutal watching her mind and body deteriorate."

"Are you close with the Newton boys?"

"Yeah, they're good guys. We carpool to Port Angeles a couple times a week together."

"What're they like?"

"They're like … Golden Retrievers or Labradors."

"Dogs?"

"Not literally, they're just very go-along-to-get-along. Well-natured. Helpful. I don't know … trusty."

"And Jake? What kind of a dog is he?"

She pauses a beat, considering as she takes another bite. "Jake's a Doberman."

"Dangerous?"

"Not necessarily. I'd classify him more as fiercely loyal and protective. Not particularly cuddly, but very loving."

"Until he's not?"

Her eyes narrow. "Are you asking me if I think these fellas are the bad guy?"

"I thought I was just getting a more local perspective."

Her voice lowers and she stares at me seriously. "What if _I'm_ the bad guy?"

I can't help but laugh because … _no_. "Well, let me consider that for a moment. Female serial killers are typically sorted into groups. First, you have your Angels of Death."

"Hmm. Killer nurses and such."

"But blood and feces are a hard _no_ for you, so I suppose that one can be ruled out. Then you have your Profit Killers. The ones who do it for financial gain and as far as I know, those girls didn't have two nickels to rub together, so that one's out too. Next, we have the Black Widows. Women who kill their husbands and lovers. I don't think that one applies much here."

"Definitely not."

"So that leaves us with Sexual Predators and Revenge Killers. So either you're a woman who systematically kills for some kind of sexual thrill, or you're killing out of hate or jealousy." I lean forward to whisper against her lips, "I don't think you're the jealous type."

She kisses me quick. "You're right, I'm not."

"As for sexual thrills though … maybe that's how you get your kicks."

She chuckles and raises a brow. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Agent Cullen."

"But I'd certainly like to."

Her teeth run over her lip at my admission. "What do you want to know?"

"Small, trivial things, like how'd you get that small scar on your knee and if you have any pets."

"Pets – no. My landlord doesn't allow them. And as for the scar, I fell on a hoverboard my sophomore year of college. No amount of coordination would've saved me, I went down like a ton of bricks."

"I want to know important things, too."

"Like what?"

"Such as goals or what area of practice you're considering or your last name, I don't think I've ever even asked." She shifts in her seat, expression somewhat unreadable. "What?"

"Nothing. As far as area of practice, I'm not 100% sure yet. Ideally, the goal is to do something I love and make a living at it after grad school. Fairly short-term, but I can't get ahead of myself."

"And your last n—"

Her phone lights up, vibrating on the table. She doesn't hesitate to bring it to her ear. "What's up, Waylon?" Brows furrowed, she sighs. "Fine. Be there in a few." Hanging up, she scrolls through her phone. "Jesus Christ."

"What's wrong?"

"Tanya didn't show up." Pressing the speaker button, she dials a number and waits for an answer. Tanya's voicemail picks up and once it beeps, Bella groans. "Um, hi there. I just got called in to take your shift. All I'm saying is that this guy had better have a twelve-inch dick if you're skipping out on work because you looked fucked six ways to Sunday when I saw you at the gas station this morning. You owe me one. Call me later, love you, mean it."

Taking a deep breath, she hangs up and tosses her phone into her purse.

"You gotta go?"

"I do." She traces her finger along my jaw and kisses me slow. "Walk me over to the bar?"

"Finally taking your safety into consideration, huh?"

"Nope." She smiles. "Just you."

* * *

**A/N: I'm loving all the guesses and theories! Keep them coming, pals!**

**Huge thanks to Tarbecca from A Different Forest for nominating Beneath the Branches to her final fic dive poll. She's moving on from the Fic Dive, but all of her years of scoping out fics has been greatly appreciated, and I'm excited that KatHat will be keeping the Fic Dive going.**

**Much thanks to Random Rita from RobAttack for rec'ing Beneath the Branches on her latest post. *blows her a kiss***

**I'm having a major book hangover after Daisy Jones and the Six. If you haven't read it yet, you must.**

**No recs this week b/c I'm a WIP fail.**

**Sound off, fandom – How do you like your Edwards? Strong, silent type? Brainy? Brawny? Mouthy? Rough around the edges? Smooth-talker? Sensitive? Domineering? Less talk, more action? Tell us your preferred brand of Edward.**

**Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, pimped, and lurked this fic. See you Thursday!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"Chief," Leah says, rushing into the conference room carrying her laptop. "I think I might have something."

Tossing his file down, he stands and circles the table. "What've you got?"

"I think we might have caught something on the deer cams last night around 9:27 pm." We crowd around her as she scrolls through the footage. "Here, watch this." She hits play and lifts her finger to show us a couple of small lights move through the trees in the distance. "Did you see that?"

"Slow it down," I instruct, dipping down so I'm eye-level with the footage.

Reversing it, she plays it again. "What do you think it is?"

Charlie leans down, squinting hard. "Glowsticks, maybe?"

"No," I disagree, "they're too bright to be glowsticks."

"Flashlights?" Leah guesses, playing it once again in slow motion.

"Nah, it's too dull to be flashlights. Can we zoom in anymore?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's too grainy."

"Which cam did we track this on?" Charlie asks, taking a seat beside Leah.

"The East entrance at Undi Road."

"You two pull the footage on the rest of the cams during that time period," he tells her, grabbing his keys. "I'm going to take Uley and head out there to see if anything's amiss."

Leah and I get to work, scouring footage looking for any blip or flicker on the monitor from the darkness of the forest. An hour or so into watching a dark screen, my phone vibrates beside me with an incoming call from Bella.

Stepping away from Leah, I sneak into the breakroom. "Hey," I drawl out with a smile, happy as hell to hear from her.

"You got a second?"

"Yeah, sure. What's up?"

"So, Tanya agreed to take my shift tonight to make up for missing hers last week."

"Ah yes, the twelve-inch-dick-debacle."

Bella snorts. "I've been skinny dipping with Jacob Black, he's barely an Oscar Meyer weiner, not even close to a footlong."

I chuckle as I lean against the counter, praying she's not going to tell me what she likens mine to.

"Anyway, since she's taking my shift, I figured I would maybe have you over to my place for a home-cooked meal." She sounds nervous, like I'd actually say no. "If you want …"

"I want," I blurt before lowering my voice. "I mean, I'd love to."

She hums on the other end, the same way she did in my ear this morning as she woke me up.

"I'll see you at seven then, Agent Cullen."

"Looking forward to it."

I head back into the conference room, unable to hide my smile.

Leah glances up. "The chief called."

"Anything amiss?"

She shakes her head. "Not that he can tell. He's going to double up patrols on Undi Road tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Do you have plans?"

My grin fades.

"Relax, Agent Cullen," she smirks, "you're allowed."

* * *

"Hey," Bella says softly, peeking out from her front door.

Fresh-faced and flushed, she welcomes me in. Her hair is up and she's dressed down wearing a tank top and a pair of tiny cotton shorts that she sometimes brings over to sleep in. Shutting the door, she leans against it for a moment before turning to face me. I'm staring at her, unabashedly eyeing her up and down.

"What?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

"You're gorgeous."

She looks away.

"Come here." I reach for her hand and pull her to me, squeezing her tight and picking her up off the ground. Her cheek brushes against mine and my words come out in a whoosh. "I _missed _you."

Closing my eyes, I hold her there to me. Even though I've fallen asleep and woken up beside her for the past few weeks now, this moment feels far more intimate than anything I've ever experienced before.

With anyone.

Her breath is warm against my ear. "I missed you, too."

Our quiet moment is marred by a loud, constant rattle and a few haphazard bangs. "What the hell is that?"

She plants a kiss on my lips then slips back onto her feet. "_That_ is why I use the laundromat."

"That's a washer and dryer?"

"Yep." She heads into the kitchen. "I kind of forgot that Larry usually does his laundry on Thursday nights."

"Larry?"

"The guy upstairs and coincidentally another reason I don't do my laundry here."

"Is he a weirdo?"

"He's old and lonely." She shrugs. "But he totally gives off the panty-sniffer vibe."

"Ahh, so you _do_ have some sense of self-preservation?"

She winks. "Only where my unmentionables are concerned."

The dinner she makes is delicious, and I wonder if there's anything this girl can't do. When I'm done eating, I rub her feet while she sips her wine and tells me snippets about her day which mostly consists of patients and stories of their battles. And although she's very matter of fact about it, I can see her mind working and that she's affected even though she likes to pretend otherwise.

I'm familiar with the struggle myself.

Tipping her head, she smirks. "What're you thinking about?"

"You," I answer honestly, pressing my thumbs into her arch.

"Profiling me again, Agent Cullen?"

"I wasn't," I glance around her small apartment then back at her, "but I could."

Humming, she pulls her feet out of my lap. "I'm pretty sure you already have me figured out."

Standing, I slip my hands in my pockets. "I'd like to think so."

"But?"

"But I'm probably wrong."

She laughs. "That's refreshing."

"What's that?"

"A man who doesn't presume to know everything."

"Definitely don't know everything, but I'd be willing to bet I'd be able to support my initial observations."

"Such as?"

I tap a finger on her calendar. "You're organized," I say, waving a hand around towards the kitchen. "Tidy." Stepping over to her bookshelf, I run my finger along the spines of her books. "Well-read with varied tastes."

"Varied tastes?"

"You've got a couple rows of textbooks with a few classics sprinkled in." I grab a bodice ripper off the shelf and smirk. "And a couple of not-so-classics."

"That's my mom's book."

"Is it? Because it's fairly dog-eared."

"For educational purposes."

"Mmm," I nod, "in the likely event you encounter a quivering member with your heated core."

A laugh bubbles up from her throat. "Precisely."

I continue studying her shelves, seeing several pictures of her with friends. "You value your friendships."

"I do."

I notice a few familiar faces. Jacob Black. Emmett McCarty and his wife. The Newton brothers. And then I see a couple of new faces. A tiny blonde with bright blue eyes and a guy with dark brown hair and eyes just like the blondes.

"You're sentimental," I add, picking up a photo of her as a kid kissing Shamu while Phil Dwyer and a woman who I assume is Bella's mother look on.

"Let the record show that was before I saw that documentary Blackfish."

"You're …" I trail off, lifting up a framed photo of Bella on the shoulders of a mustached man wearing aviators. "Charlie's," I murmur, spinning to face her. "Bella, what's your last name?"

She drops her head, rubbing her hands on the tops of her thighs before looking up at me.

"_Tell _me your last name_."_

Her face is expressionless. "Swan."

Pacing the room, I rub my jaw and keep my mouth shut so I don't fucking explode.

"Edward," she whispers and I hold up my hand, not wanting to hear a word of it.

"Don't."

"Let me just –"

"Bella," I grit my teeth and shake my head in warning, "I'm telling you to stop. I don't want to hear it right now."

"You have to listen, just let me ex–"

"DON'T!" I jab a finger in her direction. "Not another fucking word! You knew exactly what you were doing!" I step closer, pressing a hand to my chest. "This is my career, Bella. My livelihood. I've worked too hard to have my investigation and reputation compromised over this."

"Compromised?"

"I'm working this investigation _with_ your father. You don't see how this could complicate our working relationship?"

"I do."

"Why'd you do it then, huh? Wanted to sate your little bullshit daddy issues?"

Her eyes widen then narrow, face still blank.

"Is that what this was? Huh? Some fun little fucked up game that you psych majors like to play?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she rolls her eyes. "Please."

"That's what it was, wasn't it? Why else wouldn't you tell me who your dad was?"

"Typically, when men ask me 'who's your daddy,' it's in the bedroom, not as a prerequisite to date them." She tilts her head. "Did it matter who Heidi's daddy was?"

"Stop it."

"Or anyone before her? Did it matter who their father was?"

"This is different and you know it."

"It's not." She sighs. "Not really."

"Then why not tell me?"

She's quiet a few moments, staring at the tiles on her floor. "Because I wanted you," she says simply, meeting my gaze.

"Because you _wanted_ me?"

"And I wanted you to want me. It's really that simple."

"So, you figured you'd ask forgiveness instead of permission?"

She straightens. "I'm not asking for your forgiveness _or_ your permission."

"You're unbelievable." I tap my temple. "What'd you think was gonna happen here, huh? I'd be in so deep that it wouldn't matter?"

A humorless laugh escapes her lips. "That would never happen. I don't think you _do_ deep."

I grab my keys. "I'm not doing _this_."

My fingertips are on the doorknob when I hear her.

"Tell me one thing," she says softly.

I turnaround. "What?"

"And answer me honestly."

"I don't owe you honesty."

"You're right, you don't, but you're a pretty straight shooter."

"I thought you were too."

"I am."

I grip the doorknob tighter.

"If I would've told you that night we met that I was Charlie's daughter, would we be here right now?"

I shake my head. "Definitely not."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"This? Us?" She swallows. "Me?"

I pull open the door, stepping out before telling her what she already knows.

_Definitely not.  
_

* * *

**A/N: Love hearing all of your theories and guesses – please keep them coming, pals!**

**Care and I haven't been WIPing much lately. We're still suffering from a major Daisy Jones and the Six book hangover and have been listening to Fleetwood Mac nonstop. **

**Reader Rec**

**_White Noise by hotteaforme _**_**\- **_**Waitress Bella wants nothing to do with her boyfriend's shady drug dealings. When he forces her to do him a favor, she finds herself on the wrong side of the wrong sort of people… all except one. M for a reason. 00s vibes.**

**Sound off, fandom – what would you like to see more of in fanfiction - genre/content wise? More Sci-fi? Contemporary? Taboo a la V.C. Andrews? True crime? Historical/period pieces? **

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

The next few days I throw myself into the job, working doubles and patrolling at all hours. I do two nights at the Undi Road entrance, keeping my eyes peeled for our perp. But honestly, I'm just trying to keep my eyes off my phone and my mind off of Bella.

She once told me that we couldn't avoid each other in Forks if we tried. She must be trying pretty hard because I haven't seen hide nor hair of her. I don't know what pisses me off more, the fact that I haven't or the fact that I want to.

In the days that follow my falling out with Bella, I can barely look Charlie in the eye. Thankfully, I don't see him much because I take the night shifts. Tonight, I'm posted at the Spotted Dog, one of the only businesses that stays open after the town curfew much to the chief's disappointment.

I remember this is where Bella told me to go if I was looking for cheap thrills. I never went looking. But now, seeing her across the bar laughing with a short, blue-eyed blonde while they shoot darts with Jacob Black and the Newton boys, it's clear she is and it makes my fucking chest ache.

I catch her eye and she's no longer laughing.

She watches me as I make my way over to her before downing her entire drink while the fellas cheer her on. I'm only a few feet away when she excuses herself to the restroom and against my better judgement, I follow her.

"Bella," I call after her and reach out to touch her arm. "Hey!"

She turns around, tucking her hair behind her ear, annoyed. "What?"

"What do you mean _what_? What are you doing here? It's not safe."

"I'm fine," she snaps, jerking her chin toward the group. "I'm surrounded by three guys who are all older than me, 'cause you know, my bullshit _daddy issues _need to be sated_._"

"Bella," I shake my head and step closer, "let me take you home."

"I don't need for you to take me home. I'm a grown woman, Agent Cullen." She leans in. "And I don't need another daddy."

"Fine." I hold my hands up in surrender. "I'll just call the chief to come get you, then."

"You wouldn't."

I pull out my phone and scroll.

"Ugh, fine!" She puts her hand over mine. "Just give me a sec."

"Bells," Jake calls when he sees her and holds up a shot.

"Sorry, guys. I gotta head home."

"Booooo," the blonde yells, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"So lame, Swan," Mike Newton jokes.

"Be good, dorks," she tells the group, squishing Mike's face and pecking him on the cheek before grabbing Tyler's face and doing the same on the opposite side.

"Call me later," the blonde says with a smile as her eyes shift from Bella's to mine.

She kisses the top of her head. "All right, Janie."

When she gets to Jacob, he's got his lips puckered and his eyes closed. Bella playfully slaps him on the cheek and then pats him on the butt with her purse. "See ya."

Their laughter follows us out of the bar.

* * *

The drive to her place is mostly silent, apart from a few huffs and sighs as she stares out the window.

"Here we are," I mutter, putting the car in park once we arrive.

"Thanks," she mumbles, unfastening her seatbelt and opening the door to leave.

"Wait," I place a hand on hers, "just, uh," I blow out a breath, "give me a second."

She closes the door and wraps her arms around herself, still not looking at me.

"I was pretty careless with my words the other night," I admit, gripping the steering wheel. "I said a few things I didn't mean."

"Which things?" she asks, facing me finally. "The part where you asked me if I was playing a fucked-up game or when you chalked up my attraction to you as daddy issues?"

"Both," I answer. "I was angry, but what I said was shitty and untrue."

"Are you still angry?"

"Less angry, but still disappointed."

She lowers her head, staring down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

"Are you, though?" I tip her chin up to face me. "Are you really even sorry?"

Her eyes look glassy in the streetlight. "Of course, I'm sorry. I feel terrible that I hurt you." Her voice is soft. "And I can understand how my omission felt like a lie. I know I could've told you at any time and that I _should've_ told you. But if I had it to do all over again, I don't think I'd do anything differently. Because unlike you, I don't regret this." She licks her lips. "Not even for a minute."

Clearing my throat, I fix my gaze to my hands on the wheel. "Well _I'm_ sorry I can't be what you wanted."

"You don't even know what I want. You just assume to know."

"Tell me then."

She leans her head back on the seat and stares up at the sunroof. "I want meaningless conversation with meaningful connection. Inside jokes and arguments over petty shit. Sleep-filled, childless nights and slow lazy fucks in the mornings. Foot rubs and baked goods on crappy days." Turning to face me, she smiles. "That kind of thing."

Letting my eyes fall closed, I can see it all with perfect clarity. This future she imagines with me. The one I can't give her.

"I want to be someone that you could confide in. Someone that you could trust enough to open up to."

"I can't give you that."

"Because of my omission?"

"Not necessarily because of your omission. I just can't give that to you. Or anyone for that matter."

"Why not?"

"The things I see and deal with on a daily basis are just …" I trail off.

"I get it."

"No, you don't," I say a little sharper than necessary. "You _can't_ possibly get it."

"Well, I want to. I want to be there to listen and help you process."

"I don't need a shrink, Bella."

"I don't want to be your shrink, Edward." Her voice rises. "I just want _you_."

"And what? Talk shop at the dinner table? You telling me about your patients and me telling you all the horrible ways the victims were brutalized. Is _that_ your idea of pillow talk?"

"No, it's not, but if that's what you needed, I'd be happy to be that for you."

"You're kidding yourself if you think that's true."

"And _you're_ kidding yourself if you believe that you're incapable of having that with anyone."

"Regardless of whether we're kidding ourselves or not, Bella, this is the way it is. And that's that, so ..."

She shifts in her seat and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. "I hope you _let_ yourself find what you need."

The way she glances back at me before slipping into her apartment makes me wonder if she's aware of what I'm not ready to admit.

Because if I ever did _let_ myself, it'd definitely be her.

I throw the car in drive before I do something stupid.

* * *

Knocking twice on the door jamb, I peek into Charlie's office. "You got a minute, Chief?"

"Yeah, sure." He looks up from his computer screen. "What's up?"

Closing the door behind me, I take a seat. "Look, this is probably just as uncomfortable for me as it will be for you, but I want to be upfront. Since I arrived in Forks, I've been," I suck in a breath trying to find the right word, "_involved_ with your daughter."

His expression is as blank as Bella's.

"Now, granted I wasn't aware she was your daughter, but once I learned she was, I ended it quickly."

"Well, that explains a lot."

"Sir?"

"Tears. Attitude. Angry lady music in the background whenever I checked in on her." He clears his throat. "I didn't realize you two called it quits."

"You knew?"

He nods. "This is Forks, Agent Cullen. Of course, I knew."

"And it didn't … bother you?"

Tipping his chair back, he steeples his fingers. "Let me put it this way. I don't like it, but … I don't hate it either." His mustache lifts on one side. "At the end of the day though, it really doesn't matter what I think. In case you haven't noticed, Bella is gonna do what Bella wants to do."

"I've noticed."

"You see, the thing about Bella is that she was born 35-years-old. Walked early, talked early, was able to detect bullshit early. Renee and I were," he shrugs his shoulders, "we just weren't equipped to parent. Honestly, we barely were equipped to take care of ourselves. My daughter's always been wiser than her years. Hell, when she was twelve, I think she offered to help her mother with her taxes. Took a gap year after high school, traipsed around Europe, even after I made her watch the movie Taken at least a dozen times." He laughs. "I accepted a long time ago that my baby was never a baby. She knows her mind and I have no doubt she knows what she wants. And if that's a middle-aged fella who doesn't like to fish," he smirks, "then who am I to tell her she's wrong?"

"Chief?" Leah interrupts, pushing the door open. "Someone's here to see you."

We follow her down the hallway to the interrogation room where Tanya sits at the table looking like hell. Her skin is blotchy and her mascara is smeared. She's wearing a t-shirt that's at least two sizes too big for her and her hair is a mess.

"What happened?" Charlie asks.

"She says she needs to talk to you."

"All right," he gestures towards the viewing room, "you two head in there and get the cameras going."

Tanya's head is in her hands when he steps into the room, quietly slipping a glass of water in front of her. "What's on your mind, Tanya?"

Looking up through watery eyes, her lip trembles. "I saw something."

He takes a seat. "Tell me what you saw."

"Jake told me," she sniffs and wipes her eyes, "he said to make myself at home which I did. I made myself some coffee and helped myself to one of his shirts. But then I got curious and started, you know, snooping around because I want to _know_ him better."

"Go on," Charlie encourages.

"I went out to his garage to see the bikes he's working on and the boat he was telling me that he wanted to take me fishing on." Her breath hitches. "I scrolled through his playlist and looked through his shelves. And then I noticed the tarp on his boat was loose and flapping in the breeze, so I went and uh ..."

She presses the palms of her hands into her eyes and sobs loudly as the chief looks on, waiting patiently for her to pull herself together.

"Inside there was a bunch of rope which I didn't think much of at the time, but there was this bra beneath it." Her eyes move to his and her lip quivers. "I-it had so much … there was _so_ much on it."

"So much what?"

Swallowing loudly, she whispers the word. "_Blood_."

* * *

**A/N: We are loving all the reactions and guesses – please keep them coming!**

**I'm a WIP fail again, but here's a fic I'm hearing great things about and plan to start when I get a chance.**

_**Hades, a love story – Sort of**_** by FictionFreak95 – A story of perseverance and lack thereof. For the downtrodden. About love and loss along with the betrayal and bitterness that ensues in its aftermath. Long story short, a story about Hades and how maybe he's not the bad guy after all. 1/4 c Lucifer. 2 tbsp Meet Joe Black. 1 heaping swig of Twilight. Misc nonsense. Liberties with Greek mythology.**

**Sound off, fandom – do you like your fics plot-driven or character-driven? Plot-driven being the story focuses more on a set of choices that a character must make whereas character-driven focuses on **_**how**_** the character arrives at that choice. Pick your poison.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic. See you on Thursday!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"Gloves on, people," Leah orders. "Any evidence we collect today _cannot_ be compromised in any way, shape, or form. There is no room for error, do you all understand?"

We all nod and some of the guys mutter their yeses.

"Pictures are to be taken _before_ you touch anything. Uley, you follow the chief around with the video camera and I'll go with Agent Cullen." She snaps her glove. "Duty of care, gentlemen. Any questions on evidence collection procedure?"

The guys are silent, some shaking their heads while others work to get the gloves on their hands.

"Good. Let's go to work."

She bangs on the door with the warrant in hand. "Mr. Black, this is Deputy Clearwater of the Forks Police Department. Please open up."

He's shirtless and yawning when he opens the door, disheveled like he just woke up. "What's u—"

The words die in his throat when he sees the cluster of cops behind her, the chief in the far back wearing a stoic expression.

"We have a warrant to search the premises, this includes your home, garage, any and all items found on your property."

Confused, he squints. "What?"

"At this time, we are requesting permission to enter the premises. Should you decline, please be advised that we are legally able to use reasonable force to enter your property to conduct our search."

"What are you looking for?" He looks at the chief. "Charlie, what's this about?"

"Do we have permission to search the premises?" Leah asks, ignoring his question.

"What do you think you'll find here, Leah?"

She raises her voice. "_Do_ we have your permission to search the premises?"

"Fuck it," he waves her in. "Fine. Yes. Whatever."

We descend onto the property while Jake is directed to stand in the driveway with a few officers from La Push. I stay close behind Charlie, snapping photos of the loose tarp and the surrounding area. All of the other ropes are completely secure and it makes me wonder why he wouldn't take the extra few minutes to fasten the last one.

Charlie lifts the tarp and takes a few pictures of what's inside, before turning to a nearby officer. "Grab me a few evidence bags and containers."

I step closer and see the rope neatly cut into strips. Beneath it is a blood-spattered bra with the tops of the straps slashed. Charlie carefully lifts the rope, revealing a pair of torn women's underwear below the bra. The once white lacey waistband is saturated crimson.

"That's not mine!" Jacob yells, wildly gesturing to the items Charlie is placing in the evidence bags and pushing his way to the boat. "I've never seen that stuff before. Chief, please," he sobs while the officers escort him back towards the property line. "Please! It's not mine!"

"What do you think?" I ask, stepping beside Charlie as he carefully places the underwear into a bag.

"I don't know _what_ to think."

"This doesn't fit the profile. It seems too sloppy."

"That may be," he stands and dusts his hands together, "but the proof is in the pudding, Agent Cullen."

"Could've been planted."

"It's possible." He drops his head. "I'd give anything for it to be possible."

"Hey Chief," Leah calls from the garage. "There's something you need to see."

When we walk in, there's an open cooler on the ground. Inside it are a purse, an apron with the McCarty family bakery logo, a locker key from the Athletics and Aquatic Club, and an Economics textbook. Bending down, Leah grabs the purse. "This matches the description Jessica's mom provided of a black leather crossbody."

"Open it," the chief directs, folding his arms over his chest.

She unzips it slowly before reaching in and pulling out a wallet. Uley zooms in on the wallet in her hands then draws back to get a shot of her opening it. Unsnapping the top, she unfolds it and holds it up. "Jessica Stanley's identification."

"Shit," Charlie mutters.

"Looks like these may belong to the rest of the girls."

"Double check it against the missing items inventories just to be sure." The chief points to the house. "Let's keep going."

We riffle through every room of his house, leaving no stone unturned. Charlie and I focus on the garage, thumbing through every shelf, drawer, and tool chest he owns. What seems like hours later I hear the chief curse under his breath.

"Uley, get over here," he orders, standing to his full height and directing Sam to video the contents of a small rusty tool box.

"What is it?" I ask, crawling out from beneath a makeshift workbench.

His throat bobs as he swallows, pulling out a polaroid picture between his gloved fingers. Kate McCarty's terror-filled blue eyes stare back at me. Bound and battered with bruises forming on her flushed cheeks. Her bra and underwear are still intact and there are no lacerations peppering her chest and abdomen.

"She's alive here," Charlie mutters. "This one's the before."

"We have the after."

Pulling out another Polaroid, Charlie holds it up. "And so does he."

* * *

Head in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably, Jacob Black repeats himself over and over. "I didn't do this!" Evidence and crime scene photos line the table of the interrogation room, but he refuses to look. "I swear!"

The interrogation door swings open and a tall, slender redhead saunters in. "Not another word, Jake." Her eyes cut to me. "I'm Victoria Martin, I'll be representing Mr. Black."

"I _didn't_ do this, Vic," he stresses, gazing up at her, terrified.

She pats his shoulder. "What are you charging him with?"

Charlie leans forward, folding his hands on the table. "Currently he's being charged with the murders of Jessica Stanley and Kate McCarty."

"I'D NEVER—"

"Not another word," she cuts Jake off, her expression severe and warning before turning back to us. "What about the others?"

"We're going to process a couple of the other pieces found to confirm they belong to Emily Young and Maggie Garrett with the families. We should hear something shortly."

"Do you have a weapon?" she asks, looking at each of us expectantly. "Hmm? A motive, perhaps? Fingerprints? DNA? An eyewitness placing my client at the scene of the crime?" When neither one of us replies, she smugly crosses her arms. "Gentlemen, I'd like a moment alone with my client, please."

I follow Charlie into the viewing room, closing the door behind us. His face is lined with worry as he stares at Jacob through the two-way mirror.

"I don't know about this, Chief."

He swallows and slips his hands into his pockets, stepping closer to the glass. "I can't say that I like it either."

"It doesn't fit," I move beside him, "and it doesn't feel right."

"I don't think these things are supposed to feel right."

"Our killer is calm. He's organized and he's thorough and he's careful. There's no way he'd leave evidence in relatively plain sight haphazardly."

"Maybe _he_ wanted to get caught."

"Or maybe _he's_ being set up."

"What if he's not?" Charlie faces me. "I can't chance it. _I won't_." He sighs, turning back to Jacob who's frantically shaking his head and pleading his innocence. "Too much at stake here."

* * *

"Thank you all for coming," Charlie says into the microphone, placing his notes on the podium. The room full of journalists and townspeople quiets as he clears his throat.

"This afternoon, a suspect was arrested for the murders of Jessica Stanley, Kate McCarty, Emily Young, and Maggie Garrett. The Forks Police Department, with the help of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the LaPush Sheriff's office, and the Sequim Police Department searched the home of Jacob Black, and collected evidence of his involvement in the crimes." Pausing, he takes a deep breath. "We are grateful for the assistance of our neighboring police departments, and the Bureau. Any questions with regards to the cases will now be addressed through the Clallam County Prosecuting Attorney's office. Thank you."

Reporters jump to their feet as he steps away from the podium, screaming their questions while the film crews jockey for position to get a good shot of the chief's somber expression. Behind them, the families of the victims embrace each other and weep. I imagine this moment is bittersweet for them considering they're grateful for the closure, but it does nothing to quell the lifetime of grief they'll no doubt experience.

* * *

"What time does your flight leave?" Leah asks a few days later as we box up all the notes and information from the investigation to send to Port Angeles for trial.

I pull Maggie's crime scene photos off the white board. "Six-thirty tonight."

"Are you ready to get back?"

I shrug a shoulder. "I guess."

"You _guess_?" She makes a face. "I figured you'd be on the first flight out."

"Yeah, well … I wanted to help wrap things up," I reason, though I'm pretty sure she's not convinced. "You know, being thorough and what-not."

She chuckles, muttering '_and what-not'_ under her breath as she carries a box to the other room to be sealed.

Tucking the photos into a folder, I glance at my phone and debate for the millionth time today whether or not I should call Bella before I leave. I have no idea what to say though, and who knows if she'd even want to hear from me. The fortune from her cookie is in my wallet. A part of me wants to keep it as a memento, while the other part of me wants to use it as an excuse to see her. Drop by and give it back to her real casual like _hey, you left this at my place_. I don't know though, either way I'll look like a creep.

Slumping into a nearby seat, I grip the arms of the chair and stare at the now blank whiteboard and bare walls of the room. How things ended with Bella isn't the only thing not sitting right with me.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Leah asks from the doorway, gesturing towards the empty space.

"It is." I shift uncomfortably. "I feel really unsettled about all of it."

She glances down, toeing the floor. "Me too."

We sit in silence for a few moments, considering our uncertainty, although I'm sure Leah's is limited to the evidence and the case. I'm up in the air about all of it.

Especially leaving Bella.

* * *

"I've got this and twenty bucks on pump five," I say to the gas station attendant, nodding toward my rental as I slip a large cup of coffee onto the counter.

"Anything else?" she asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"No, thanks."

"That'll be $22.87." The door chimes as it opens and the clerk greets whoever's coming in with a smile and a wave while I slip my card in the chip reader.

"You might want to grab some napkins," she says, pointing to a few drips of coffee on the counter.

"Uh, yeah. I probably should."

I shove my receipt in my wallet then step over to the beverage counter to wipe down my cup.

"You know you've got the wrong guy, right?" James Hunter says in a low voice while he fills a 48-ounce Styrofoam cup with Mountain Dew.

My eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"Jake," he clarifies. "He didn't do this."

"And how do you know that?"

"I just do."

"Yeah, well, unless you've got some proof, we can't go off a hunch."

He laughs, shaking his head. "You sound just like the chief."

"Who do you think did it then?"

Shrugging, he places the lid on his cup. "I can't say, I just don't think Jake has it in him."

"Know anyone that _might_ have it in him? Present defenseless-animal-gutting company excluded?"

"You're talking about the bullfrog, right? Up at Elk creek?"

I don't reply.

"I figured he may have mentioned it to you." Agitated, he unwraps his straw and roughly slides it into the lid. "But I'll bet that good ol' Chief Swan failed to mention who else was with me that day, didn't he?"

"All he said was that he caught _you_ red-handed."

"Yeah, well, _I _wasn't the one with the knife in my hand," he whispers harshly, stepping forward. "_He_ was torturing that thing and I took it from him so he couldn't …" he trips over his words, "couldn't do … _that_ anymore."

My brow furrows and I lower my voice. "He didn't mention anyone was with you that day."

Grabbing his drink, he moves to leave. "There's a shocker."

"Who was with you that day?" I ask, catching his elbow as he passes, to which he glances down at my hand then back at me, warning. "Tell me. Who were you with?"

* * *

**A/N: *whispers* Tell us, pals – whodunnit?**

**Prereading and writing has kept me plenty busy this week, so alas, I am a WIP reading fail. Any new fics out that you're enjoying these days?**

**Sound off, fandom – Care and I are feeling a bit nostalgic and are wondering which Twific author that has left do you wish would come back to write for the fandom again?**

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

The front counter at Newton Outfitters is empty when I enter, but I know I'm not alone because I hear faint whistling in the back. I make my way down the aisles of lures and nets, hunting and hiking gear as the whistling gets louder. Rounding the corner, I see Big Tom restocking some bird feeders.

"Mr. Newton," I greet as I approach.

"Hey there." He grins. "Didn't think you'd stick around much longer now that they've got Black dead to rights."

"Yeah, well," I rub my jaw while scanning the bird inventory, "I've gotta make sure we cross all the t's and dot all the i's."

"True." He turns back to the shelves and straightens some birdhouses before moving to the hummingbird feeders. "Very true."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something familiar. A small copper bird swing. "What's this?"

"A hummingbird perch. They don't like houses, but don't seem to mind these. My Marjorie loved hummingbirds," he tells me, a far off look in his eye. "She swore up and down that when she was young, she saw a Red-throated Hummingbird here in the woods."

As I stare at the shelf, my mind goes back to that morning we found Maggie's body in the forest. The sunlight filtering through the leaves and the perches swaying slightly overhead while the birds chirp and hover around, watching us from above.

"Now, I don't know how much you know about birds, Agent Cullen," he continues, "but seeing a Red-throated Hummingbird this far Northwest is almost unheard of. But like I said, Margie swore she saw one and hung these damn things wherever she could. I've got a backyard full of them."

"I've never seen a Red-throated Hummingbird."

"Pretty birds. She always told me she'd come back to me as one." He sighs. "And I told her I'd never stop looking."

I pull one of the perches off the shelf to inspect it closely. "Is that right?"

He nods. "As a matter of fact, my youngest modified these a bit for her before she died. Attached a solar tube light to them so she can see the birds in the evening, ain't that something?"

All the air leaves my chest in a whoosh.

"Mike?" I ask as casually as I can to keep him from clamming up.

With a shake of his head, he chuckles. "God love that kid, but no. He'd glue his fingers together putting on a postage stamp."

I hold up the perch by the tag. "Could you ring me up?"

* * *

"Leah, it's Cullen," I say into my phone as I speed down Forks Avenue. "Don't put the case files away just yet."

"What've you got?"

"Get out _all _of the pictures from Maggie's crime scene."

"Why?"

"I'll be there in two minutes."

"Cullen, what's going on?"

"Just have it ready for me."

* * *

Tossing the bag from Newton's onto the table, I reach for the file and thumb through it until I find the photographs. I flip through them quickly, looking for the shot of the trees and the perches beneath the branches.

"It's a match," I say, when I finally find it, pulling the perch out of the bag to compare the two.

"Where'd you—"

"I need you to get a warrant," I speak over her, interrupting.

"What?"

I turn to her. "Get me a warrant for Mike and Tyler Newton's place."

"Now?"

"Right now, and bring Charlie over once you have it."

"But what about Jake?"

Pushing on the door, I look over my shoulder. "Jake didn't do this."

* * *

It takes Charlie and Leah nearly thirty-five minutes to get to the house. She's holding up the warrant as she gets out of the car and the chief follows her lead, the confusion clear on his face while Uley trails in behind them.

"What're we doing here, Agent Cullen?"

"I have reason to believe that one or both of the Newton boys are behind the killings."

The chief shakes his head with his hands on his hips looking more like his daughter than I'd like to admit. "Bullshit, those are good boys."

"Yeah, well, good boys don't gut bullfrogs at fourteen-years-old," I hold up the crime scene photo and the bag from Newton's, "and good boys don't light their killing fields with hummingbird perches, either."

After several minutes of explaining my findings to the chief, he beats on the door. There's no answer for a few seconds, so he tries again until he finally hears footsteps. The door opens and a disheveled Mike Newton answers wearing sweats and a pair of socks. His hair's a wreck, his eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like booze and Old Spice.

"Charlie?" he asks.

Grabbing the warrant from Leah, he hands it to Mike and steps inside. "What're we looking for, Cullen?"

"Anything to tie one of them to the crimes," I reply as Leah rattles off the needed warrant information.

We rummage through the living room and kitchen, finding nothing more incriminating than store-bought baked goods and a shitty brand of canned beer.

"Whose room is this?" I ask, pointing to a closed door.

"Mine," he answers.

I open the door to a disaster. Bed unmade, clothes and cans and wrappers strewn about. I don't even waste my time, moving onto the next. "What about this one? Is this Tyler's?"

He nods as I enter.

"Jesus," I mutter, taking in the sterile space. Neat and tidy are understatements. The room is immaculate. Hangers evenly spaced. Books ordered by height and color. Not so much as a crease or wrinkle on his linens. I go through the drawers, each one more orderly than the other. Flipping through his planner, I note the neat handwriting. The heavy pressure with which it's applied and the speed with which the strokes are written suggests aggressiveness, while the broad terminal strokes indicate anger or brutality.

Above his desk is a bulletin board filled with pictures, some with his father and brother, others in large groups of guys and girls. Upon a closer review, I see Jessica in one and both Emily and Kate in another. In each photo, he's there smiling among them, usually on the end leaning in. Almost like he's with the group, but not necessarily a part of it. Except for the one with Bella. It's him and her and Mike. She's between them, grinning and leaning into Mike who has his arm draped over her shoulder while Tyler stands beside them, close but not touching.

"Find anything?" Leah asks, startling me as she walks into the room.

"No, not yet."

She runs a finger along each of the hangers in the closet and peeks behind a row of wrestling trophies on a nearby bookshelf. "He's too smart to put it in plain sight."

"Maybe." I turn back to the bulletin board and hear the wood floor creak beneath my feet. Bending down, I press on the floorboards. "Maybe not though."

We run our fingers over the grooves, looking for any give.

"Got it," Leah says, getting her nails under the board and lifting it up.

"What do you see?"

She shines her flashlight into the small, dark space. "A key."

"A key?"

Reaching down, she pulls out the small silver key on a ring between her gloved fingers. "What do you think it's to?"

"I'm not sure."

She marches out to the kitchen where Mike and Uley are sitting at the table. "What's this key to?" she asks, dangling it in front of him.

"How should I know?"

"Lemme see that." Charlie snatches it and holds it up in the light. "Looks like it's a shed key. That or some kind of a storage cabinet."

Leah nudges Mike. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained to the floor.

"Search the perimeter," Charlie orders before pointing to Uley. "Sam, you stay with him, make sure he doesn't contact anyone, you understand?"

"Got it."

The sun is nearly set behind the trees as we walk out the back door. There at the edge of the property is a small galvanized steel storage shed, tucked beneath a couple of trees with strategically lit branches.

"Son of a bitch," Charlie mumbles from behind me. "This is how he sees."

The storage shed isn't quite as neat as his room, but it's still very organized. There are no garden or lawn tools, only a set of drawers and cabinets on either side of the workbench. Charlie clicks on his flashlight and points it onto the work surface, peering at the knife sharpener in the center of several solar light tubes and some cut copper wiring.

We immediately go to work, leafing through each of the drawers and cabinets, only stopping when we hear Leah's sharp intake of breath. She holds up an open quad notebook, the current page lined with handwritten notes and drawings.

"What is it?" I ask, stepping closer to get a better look seeing a large sketched bird on the open page. "A diary?"

She shakes her head. "His hunting log book."

"Is that?" Charlie tilts his head, squinting at a sketch beneath the bird. "Is that Jessica?"

"What does that say?" I ask, shining my light on the writing and seeing several lines of neatly scrawled notes surrounding the drawing, including a section titled _last words_ and dated May 3rd.

"Fuck," I breathe, flipping the page to see the same thing for Kate and Emily.

"Chief," Leah whispers, eyes tearing up when I land on the last page with writing on it.

Dark hair, big eyes, and pouty sketched lips stare back at us along with a listing of her comings and goings for the past few weeks. The last words section is blank with the exception of today's date.

My heart hammers in my chest as Charlie's eyes widen and his voice breaks. "No!"

I double back to the house as fast as I can, bursting through the back door and yanking Mike out of his seat and up against the wall. "Where is he?"

"I don't know."

I slam him as hard as I can against the drywall. "Tell me! Where's your brother?"

"Oww," he whines, trying to loosen my grip. "He said he had a delivery for the store today."

"In Port Angeles?"

"Probably. I don't know, I didn't ask him."

Charlie stomps in behind me, pushing Mike back into the wall. "Is Bella with him?"

"I don't know, Charlie. I swear I don't."

Letting him go, he shoves him into the wall once more. "Call him." Mike straightens his stance. "Now!"

Mike grabs a cordless phone off the counter, calling him on speaker so we can hear it if he tips him off. A cell phone rings in the next room and Leah rushes to find where it's coming from. She returns with the ringing phone in hand.

"Goddamn it!" Charlie shouts as I pull out my phone and dial Bella's number.

My vision blurs, so I squeeze my eyes shut while it rings and pray that she'll pick up. When she doesn't, I glance up at Charlie and slowly shake my head.

Eyes watery and heart heavy, I'm barely able to voice my biggest fear. "He's got her."

* * *

**A/N: *whistles and walks away***

**Care and I were ****chatting**** about WIPing – not to be confused with actually WIPing since it's back to school time for us and life is crazy. We were reminiscing about those stories we were lucky enough to read as WIPs and how reading it as a work in progress made the whole reading experience even more fun. We talked about crying our eyes out with each update of **_**Consequences of Miracles**_** and how we rooted with each posting for Edward's redemption in **_**Objects in the Mirror are Closer Than They Appear. **_**Our little trip down memory lane got us curious to know your thoughts.**

**Sound off, fandom – which fics are you glad you got to experience as a WIP?**

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

**BPOV**

"How's your day going?" the young barista asks as he wipes down a nearby table.

My caramel macchiato is lukewarm, my croissant tastes like disappointment, and I've typed and deleted the same text to Edward at least ten times. "Great," I lie, "thanks."

I go back to my phone, trying to come up with a less desperate approach to seeing him before he leaves other than 'Hey, did I leave a penny at your place' when I hear someone calling my name.

"I thought that was you," Tyler Newton says, rapping his knuckles on my table. "I didn't know you were going to be in P.A. today."

"Yeah, it was the last day of my internship so they let me out early."

"You know, I've been meaning to call you. Wanted to see how you were taking the news about Jake."

Clutching my coffee, I exhale. "Not well."

"Me neither. It's just unreal."

"It is. I don't know." I stare at the swirling cream. "Things have been shitty the past few weeks and now this is just … too much."

"How's Charlie taking it?"

"It's killing him."

"I can imagine."

"Probably isn't helping that we've gone round and round about it and can't have a discussion without one of us losing our shit."

"You should take it easy on your old man. He's just doing his job."

"Yeah, well," I stand to place my cup in a nearby tray and grab my things, "he's doing it wrong, then."

His voice quiets. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. Honestly, Ty." I blow a stray strand of hair out of my face. "I'm just having a crappy day and being a brat, so …"

He gives me the signature Newton boy grin, averting his eyes and blushing.

"I'll see you around."

I'm halfway out the door when he responds. "Drive safe, Bells."

His goodbye is sweet and moments later I find it's wholly unnecessary because I won't be driving anywhere.

"Fuck me," I mutter, kneeling down to look at my nearly flat tire.

I know for a fact there's not a spare tire in the bed of my truck, even though both Charlie and Jake urged me to replace my last one. Staring at my phone, I consider my options. I could call my dad, but he may or may not answer my call based on how our last discussion went. Jake is no longer an option thanks to my father, and Edward … I'm sure he'd see it as desperation on my part. I am a lot of things, but desperate is not one of them.

I nod at the thought just as I hear Tyler behind me.

"Problem?"

I glance back at him, standing there holding his to-go cup and a pastry bag. "I've got a flat and no spare."

He clucks his tongue and turns on his heel, heading to his camo-covered delivery van. "Better start walking then, Swan."

My mouth pops open, shocked by his rudeness when I see him look back, giving me a wink and a grin.

"I'm kidding. Get in."

* * *

The ride is quiet, except for the music playing low from the stereo. I stare at my messages, still holding onto the hope that Edward will at least tell me goodbye.

"Waiting on your lover boy to call?" Ty asks, keeping his eyes on the road as the forest blurs by.

"Am I that obvious?

"Well, you haven't stopped looking at your phone for the past twenty or so miles, so, yeah, a little obvious. You might want to rein it in."

I laugh, dropping my phone into my bag behind my seat. "You're right, I'm sorry."

He shrugs a shoulder and turns up the music. "Dude, I love this song."

Natalie Maines beautiful voice bursts through the speakers along with Tyler's not so spectacular vocals. "Mother do you think they'll try to break my balls?" His eyes bug out and he makes a funny face. "Mother should I build the wall?"

I laugh at how into it he is, closing his eyes and belting it out with feeling before pointing to me.

"Your turn."

"No."

"Come on, Swan!"

He nudges me and his excitement is contagious so I sing along. "Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry. Mama's gonna make all your nightmares come true. Mama's gonna put all her fears into you. Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing."

Ty cuts in, "She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing."

I burst into another fit of giggles watching him get all Mariah-Carey-in-the-vocal-booth on it.

"Mother you think she's good enough … for me? Mother do you think she's dangerous … to me?" he croons dramatically as the greenery of the forest gets darker. "Mother will she tear your little boy apart? Oooh-ah, Mother will she break my heart?"

He points to me. "Your turn."

"Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry." I take a deep breath and let it rip, "Mama's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you. Mama won't let anyone dirty get through." He glances at me with his infectious smile, encouraging. "Mama's gonna wait up until you get in. Mama will always find out where you've been."

"Ooooh babe," we sing together, warbling ridiculously. "Ooooh babe. Ooh babe, you'll always be baby to me."

His smile fades slightly. "Mother did it have to be so high?"

The last chord plays and I shake my head. "That song is all kinds of creepy."

"It really is fucked up, isn't it," he agrees, loosening and gripping the steering wheel.

I tip my head back. "Totally fucked up."

"It's a shame, really."

"What's that?"

He sighs. "That you were the only one willing to sing it along with me."

"The only one?" I ask, confused.

"The others just screamed and cried." He chuckles darkly, meeting my gaze. "Begged for their lives."

"What're you talking…" I trail off as the meaning of his words sink in. And even though every molecule in my body is surging with fear, I freeze, unable to break myself away from his stare or distinguish the boy I once likened to a golden retriever with his good guy smile and boy next-door looks from the motherfucking monster before me. My words come out quiet but firm as I grip the handle of the door. "Stop the car, Tyler."

He shakes his head, looking back to the road. "No."

"PULL OVER, NOW!"

"I'm afraid not, Bells."

"PULL OVER!"

"You brought this on yourself, you know."

I wrench the handle as hard as I can and scream when the door doesn't budge. "LET ME GO!" I try the window next, but it won't roll up or down and it's clear by his amused snickering that he has the child lock on. Blood and adrenaline surges through my body when I cock my legs back and slam my feet into the windshield. I hear him curse and feel his fingers roughly clutch my hair.

"LET GO!" I shriek, wildly kicking the glass with both feet again with as much force as I'm able.

He yanks me up in the seat and my feet slip down to the floor. Tightening his hold on my hair, he holds me there for a split-second before smashing my head against the dashboard.

And everything goes dark.

* * *

**A/N: You guys we've been listening to **_**Mother by Natalie Maines**_** for weeks now. If you haven't heard it before, you **_**must**_**. The Pink Floyd version is wonderful too, but her version is beautiful and creepy and makes Carrie ZM side-eye me hard … I love it.**

**No time to WIP this week for us, but we did have a lovely discussion about music that makes us think of fic.**

**Sound off, fandom – what song do you associate with fic? Like 18****th**** Floor Balcony reminds us of EP and music by the Doors reminds us of Badlands. Tell us your most memorable fic/song connections.**

**Thanks so much to those who have read, reviewed, followed, fave'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic. See you Thursday!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

**BPOV**

The pain in my head is excruciating when I come to. Bleary eyed and sore, my face scratches against the carpeting of the van as I wriggle around trying to loosen my hands which are tightly bound behind my back.

"There you are," Tyler says without looking up from the fishing wire he's cutting.

"Tyler," I whisper to keep my voice from shaking. "Please …"

"Please what?"

"Let me go." My lip quivers as tears threaten to fall. "Please let me go."

"No."

"Please," I try again, pleading.

"Beg all you want, Swan." He shrugs and holds the fish wire up at eye level. "It won't do you any good."

The eerie calm tone of his voice sends a shiver throughout my body. It's either that or the fact that I'm only wearing my bra and underwear.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Right here." He nods to a folded pile placed beside a tarp. "You won't be needing them anymore."

I remain still, trying desperately not to let my unease show in the set of my jaw and shoulders. "Why?"

He chuckles. "Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Ya see," he carefully places the fish wire onto the tarp then grabs a nearby strand of pearls, "this is what I like about you, Bells. You're considerate." Gently removing a pearl from the strand, he pinches it between his fingers. "The others cried and begged. All they could think about was themselves instead of asking the obvious question which is _why_ were they chosen."

He meets my eyes for the first time since I came to as he slides the pearl onto the fish wire and slips it into his shirt pocket. There's a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips, like he's daring me to engage him.

My mind goes back to the first day of my internship, and Dr. Tiddy's words play through my head. _You're not here to be their friend, you're here to help them see the truth. Some patients don't want to be fixed. They just want to be heard._

"Why were they chosen?"

"_We_," he corrects. "The question you should be asking is why were _we_ chosen. And the answer to that is because you all deserve it for one reason or another." Picking up his knife case, he unsnaps the fastener. "I don't know what she saw in you."

"She?" I ask, keeping my voice even and calm like we're told to when dealing with a hostile client. "_She_ being your mother?"

He nods.

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Everything."

"How? Marjorie was one of the sweetest ladies I've ever met."

"She was a cunt," he says sharply, unsheathing his blade. "Sitting there every day, watching for those damn birds and telling me how worthless I was." He sneers. "Or how I disappointed her. And how I should be more like my brother."

"That was probably the disease," I assure him, softly. "Huntington's impacts the cognitive and psychiatric functio—"

"No shit," he cuts me off, angrily tossing the cover onto the nearby tarp.

My body trembles as I stare at the knife which seems to please him given how his lips curl.

"She got off on control," he continues, inspecting the razor-sharp edge. "Mike and my dad were fine with it with their _yes ma'am, no ma'am_." He makes a face and mimics his father. "_Whatever you say, Margie." _He looks up from the blade and meets my eyes. "I didn't buy into the St. Marjorie bullshit. I saw her for what she was." Leaning forward, he points at a few bird swings on the tarp. "And now she's seeing _me_."

"What is it you want her to see you do?"

"She called me weak." He flips the knife over, examining it in the same manner. "That's why girls like you and Kate wouldn't look twice at me, and girls like Jess would walk all over me." His eyes dart to mine, but they're unfocused and empty. "I'm not weak."

I'm quiet for a bit, watching him hum the song while sharpening his blade. Assessing him. Inadequacy is fascinating in its ability to override one's rational thinking process. My mind races, desperately trying to remember all the aggressive patient de-escalation techniques we've learned over the years. _Stay relaxed. Speak slowly. Gently. Avoid raising your voice. Paraphrase your understanding of their experiences and validate their emotions as they express them._

Closing my eyes, I slow my breathing and calm myself before I engage him. "You're not weak," I murmur with a small shake of my head.

"What was that?"

"I said that you're not _weak_."

He pauses his sharpening to glare at me momentarily.

"You're clever." A smile spreads wide over his face at my words. "You fooled everyone."

Sitting a little straighter, his arrogance shows. "I know. Now ask me the question again. The _right _way."

"Why were _we_ chosen?"

He sniffs. "She chose you all for me."

"Your mom?"

Nodding, he waves the knife in my direction. "You were the respectable ones. Suitable and decent and utterly unattainable for the likes of me."

"You and Jess dated though."

"_I_ dated." He tips his head to the side. "Jess fucked around. Repeatedly." His grip on the knife tightens. "A fact which my mother relished."

"Her infidelity was unacceptable. You didn't deserve that."

He stares at me expressionless, like he's unsure how to take my response.

"You didn't, you know," I reassure him softly.

"I didn't," he agrees, his tone icy. "But she deserved exactly what she got."

His words send a shiver down my spine, but I keep my expression impassive. "What about Kate?"

He grins, touching the tip of the blade with his glove-covered index finger. "Kate." Her name comes out with a fond sigh. "That fucking tease. I spent an entire summer cheering her up after that French guy dumped her. Dinners, movies, flowers. The works." He shakes his head. "Only to find her spread eagle on a picnic table in Tilicum Park with Jake."

He must see the confusion on my face.

"You didn't know?" he asks, amused. "Your buddy didn't tell you that he'd creep out late at night with Kate and do unspeakable things to her in a public park?"

"I didn't know," I whisper.

"I knew." He lowers his voice. "I saw them. Heard every grunt. Every moan. Watched that good girl let that trash sully her. She was useless to me after that, and so was Jake." His smile grows. "He got what he deserved in the end too, didn't he?"

When I don't answer he goes back to humming the song and double-checking the items on the tarp. _Definitely dealing with a psychopath, not a psychotic. Psychosis would present as more of a complete loss of reality, whereas Tyler is presenting as a personality disorder. Calculating and manipulative. More permanent, less curable. Driven by his feelings of inadequacy._

"I suppose he did."

"Of course he did," he snaps back.

"He did," I agree, lowering my head submissively.

Scratching his jaw, he leans back and sits against the door. "Emily was by far my biggest disappointment though, apart from you. She was," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "unappreciated. Taken for granted and shit on regularly by that boyfriend of hers."

"Brady?"

He nods. "I'd sit for hours at the diner listening to her vent about him. Every day I'd tell her she deserves better and every day she'd agree. She'd thank me for listening, give me extra pie, and tell me what a great guy I was." Huffing out a laugh, he clasps his hands together. "It was all bullshit. She'd run back to him like a beaten dog." His expression darkens. "She was _weak_."

"What about Maggie?"

"Mags was a tease, too. She was always popping into the store, talking my ear off about hiking or climbing. Wanting my opinion on where to go and what to do, but every time I offered to take her, she always had an excuse. The last time she turned me down she said she had plans to go out. When I saw her at the Redbox, I followed her home." He grins. "Paid her a little visit."

He sits up on his knees and crawls over to me. "And then there's you." He combs his fingers through my hair. "Tell me something, Bells. Did that boyfriend of yours ever tell you what I did to those girls?" He brushes my cheek and I try not to shiver at his touch. "Did he?"

My voice shakes. "No."

"Good," he says, bringing his lips to my ear and letting his fingers gently slip down to my throat. "Then I get to tell you exactly what I'm going to do."

Shuddering at his words, my eyes water, but I remain silent.

He speaks softly. "I'm going to bind your legs together, so you can't run. I'll take you to a special place that only _she_ knows," his grip tightens, "where she can watch."

Tears stream down my face as a sob escapes.

"I'm going to wrap my hands around your throat just like this." He squeezes tightly. "And I won't stop," his voice softens as his nose skims the side of my face, "until I see the life leave your eyes."

Pressing my lips tightly together, I lift my chin in defiance.

"And when you're gone," his finger traces down the middle of my throat to my cleavage. "That's when I'll have my fun."

He reaches forward, grabbing the knife and unsheathing from its case. "Beautiful isn't it? You should hear the sound it makes when it tears the flesh or hits the bone." He chuckles. "Punctures an organ."

Mouth at my ear again, he murmurs, "It's going to _tear_ you apart."

My lip quivers and my words come out in a cry. "Why?"

"Ask me the right way."

"Why was _I_ chosen?"

"Because _you_ were her favorite." He wipes a tear from my cheek. "The pretty daughter of the chief. Smart and friendly. You brought her cupcakes to satisfy her sweet tooth when you visited." His eyes trail down and up my body before meeting my eyes. "You drove me crazy and she knew it. Told me I didn't stand a chance."

"We were friends, Ty," I reason. "I didn't know you wanted more."

"I did, but I don't anymore. Especially after I saw you and the Fed." He clucks his tongue. "The things you let that man do to you, Bells. I saw it _all_."

I squeeze my eyes shut as his nose skims along my jaw and his hand grips my hair.

"I watched you let him defile you over and over again, night after night." He sneers. "I listened to you beg for it as he took you. And he took you, didn't he, Bells?" His tone is cruel, disgusted. "From behind. Holding you down. Bent over the furniture," he groans against my cheek.

"Stop," I beg quietly.

"He used you up and tossed you out like trash when he was done."

"Stop it," I say firmly, jerking my face from his.

Smirking, he leans closer. "You were worthless to me after that. But to answer your question, _that_ is why you were chosen." He sits up and checks his watch then looks outside. "It's almost time."

He hums the song slowly as he folds the items into the tarp. "I'm going to set up. Tell me you're going to be a good girl and sit tight."

I say nothing and keep my eyes fixed to the floor.

"Tell me," he repeats a little firmer.

I stay quiet until he grabs me by my hair and I yelp.

"Say it!"

"I will!" I scream. "I'll sit tight."

He narrows his eyes. "I don't believe you."

I don't see his fist coming until I feel it. The pain sears my cheek, but I close my eyes and remain motionless until I hear him gather his tarp and slide the door shut behind him.

I wait a few minutes until I'm sure he's gone before sitting up. Shimmying my bound arms from behind my back under my butt proves a bit more difficult than I anticipated, especially given how high and tight they're tied. I nearly have them along the back of my legs when I hear footsteps along the nearby gravel.

Adrenaline and instinct kicks in. I've tried talking him down and de-escalating the situation. I followed the steps to the letter. My father always says when all else fails that I should do it his way. When I hear Ty's hand grip the sliding van door, I'm inclined to agree.

He smiles when he sees me. "You're u—"

His words are cut off by my cry and the sound of my feet connecting with his face. He falls back onto the gravel, nose gushing blood. I slide out of the van with my arms still behind me and stomp his face as hard as I can until I hear the satisfying crunch of bone.

His hand grasps my ankle as I lift my leg again to strike. With my arms bound, I know that I won't stand a chance so I kick him again and run screaming into the forest.

"HELP! HELP ME!" I shriek.

"Bitch!" I hear him growl from behind me, but I don't turn around and I don't stop running.

My footfalls are loud, crushing the leaves and the moss-covered branches of the forest floor with each step. For a split-second I consider hiding or taking cover and praying that he doesn't see me. But then I see lights up ahead and I run as fast as I can towards what I hope is the ranger station. "HELP!" I shout out, my voice getting hoarse. "HELP ME, PLEASE!"

When I get closer, I find myself in an open area barely lit by a long-curved branch and Tyler's tarp spread on the ground with his instruments carefully laid out beside my folded clothes. "No," I whisper just before hearing Tyler's chuckle behind me.

Turning to the sound, I see him come into the light from the darkness. "You shouldn't have run, Bells," he says, lifting one side of his bloodied mouth. "You shouldn't have made me chase you."

I stumble back a few feet before turning to run when I feel his hand yank my hair and body back. I feel his breath against my cheek. "I'm going to enjoy this."

I slam my head back as hard as I can, hoping to connect. His teeth snap at the contact and his curse is muttered. I pull away to run, but my hair is still in his grasp and he violently wrenches me back.

Spinning me around, he pushes me to my knees. "Look at me," he grunts, closing his hands around my neck. I can't fight him with my hands bound behind me. "LOOK AT ME," he repeats, squeezing harder.

My eyes water and my screams go silent as I stare up at him. Perspiring and breathing heavily, he grits his teeth and increases the pressure on my throat. My mouth pops open as I gasp for breath. No sound comes out, just small huffs for air. My vision blurs, the lights and the branches above swirl together, becoming hazy. Unable to breathe, everything slowly goes dark, but before they do, I hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching and a familiar voice calling my name.

* * *

**A/N: ****No time to read lately – especially now that summer is over and we're back on our bullshit. Got any new reads?**

**We've been on a Billie Eilish kick lately and were wondering about your take on bad guys. Sound off, fandom – who's your favorite fic villain? Which fic gave you your fave bad guy? Do you ever root for the villain?**

**Thanks so much to all of you who read, reviewed, followed, fave'd, rec'd, and lurked this fic. See you Thursday!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

EPOV

"_He's got her."_

Slumping into his seat at the table, Mike straightens his shirt and stares at the floor.

"Look at me," Charlie orders. "Where's he taking her?"

Mike's eyes snap to the chief's, looking pained. "I swear, Charlie. I have no idea."

"The place that only she knows," Leah says from the doorway before darting in front of me with the quad notebook open. "Mike, where is the place that only _she_ knows?"

I step closer to see the drawing she's showing him on the back of Bella's page. It's a sketch of a large bent branch beneath what looks like some hemlock trees.

Mike squints at the sketch, then looks up at each of us. "That looks like my mom's favorite spot. It's where she said she saw the Red-throated hummingbird."

"Where is it?" Charlie and I shout in near unison.

"At the end of Hoh Valley Road. About a couple hundred feet from the Spruce Nature Trail."

I glance at the chief. "We don't have cameras there."

Sliding his hat on his head, Charlie turns. "Who do you think installed the cameras for me?"

"Fuck," I mutter, rushing out behind him.

"Sam, stay with Mike," Charlie orders as he leaves. "Make sure he doesn't call anyone and don't let him out of your sight. Understand?"

"Got it, Chief."

Leah jogs up behind us, already radioing for back-up. "Dispatch, this is Deputy Clearwater." A crackling voice sounds from the radio telling her to go ahead. "Dispatch, we have a 10-31 at the end of Hoh Valley Road. Requesting assistance in the apprehension of suspe—"

"Silent run," Charlie cuts in, opening the driver side door and climbing in.

Leah nods and continues, "suspect – Chief Swan requests a silent run, no lights, no sirens. Suspect's name is Tyler Newton."

I slip into the back seat while Leah gets in front, still rattling off the situation and requesting that dispatch call in all surrounding county law enforcement for assistance. We barely get the door shut before Charlie peels out.

The engine growls as he floors it, speeding through the streetlight-lined streets to the looming darkened forest. My mind spins, wavering between fearing the worst and praying that she's not with him. Sucking in a shaky breath, I glance down at my hands gripping the tops of my thighs.

"She's gonna be fine," Charlie says in an even tone. He stares at the road, sitting straight as a board. His worried expression betrays his confident words. "She's strong and she's smart." His voice breaks. "And she'll figure out a way. I know _my_ girl."

"Here," Leah says, slipping a flashlight between the seats. "Do you have your gun?"

"Shit," I hiss, clutching my hair tightly.

Turning in her seat, she stares at me seriously. "You packed i—"

"It's fine," Charlie interrupts, "we'll apprehend."

I nod, squeezing the heavy flashlight in my grasp and cursing the TSA for their _operational need _rule for law enforcement to carry their firearms on a plane. We turn onto Hoh Valley Road and speed down the street, zipping past the dead-end sign. The tires screech as he pulls off the pavement into the gravel at the side of the road. I bound out of the car like I'm spring-loaded, taking off into the trees along the trail and hearing the chief and Leah's steps behind me.

"Bella," the chief booms as the twigs and brush crack beneath our feet. "Bella!"

"Look for the lights," I yell, aiming my flashlight at the branches in all directions.

The chief falls behind, but Leah keeps right up. "There," she shouts, "three o'clock!"

I glance to my right, seeing a faint light coming through the trees.

"LOOK AT ME!" I hear a voice roar from that direction sounding strained and angry.

The rough gasp that follows sets my entire body on edge. My heart hammers in my chest as I pick up the pace, bounding over fallen trees and moss-covered rocks. The lights grow slightly brighter as I approach. Beneath the curved branch, he's looming over her bound, nearly naked body. His eyes are crazed, mouth and nose bloodied, and his hands are wrapped tightly around her neck. Gritting his teeth, he exerts every ounce of energy into taking her life.

But she fights.

She defies him, struggling against her restraints and trying to get to her feet. Her eyes are wide, expression terrified. But still she fights.

He never sees me coming.

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I tackle him and my flashlight clatters to the ground. We fall with a thud onto a tarp laid out at the base of a tree. His head slams back against an exposed limb and he winces and groans before opening his eyes. A sinister bloodied grin spreads across his face and he chuckles. "You're too late."

I lift him up and smash him back down again which only makes him laugh harder. Incensed, I pull him up to his feet which proves to be a mistake when he barrels into me, knocking me back to the ground. We wrestle a bit, both trying to restrain the other when Charlie comes huffing from the darkness.

Tyler's pinned beneath me, blindly reaching for something on the tarp when the chief orders him to freeze. I pull back, knowing that Charlie's got me covered when I hear a rip and feel a blinding pain in my thigh. Grounding the jagged blade into my flesh, he pulls it out roughly before pushing me back. Unable to steady myself, I wobble, trying not to let him up, but he's too fast and too strong. This time I see the knife coming and am helpless to stop it from jabbing into my chest. The pain is searing as he pushes it in further, twisting it as it goes.

"I said _freeze_, goddamn it!" Charlie booms, his barely contained rage evident with each word.

Withdrawing the blade, Tyler spins me roughly, securing my neck in the crook of his arm and holding his knife to my chest. My injured leg throbs and the gash on my sternum burns as blood soaks every inch of my shirt.

"Take the shot," I grunt as Tyler shields his body with mine from Charlie's glock.

Side-stepping with his arms extended and his firearm at eye-level, the chief looks for an angle in the dimly lit space.

"Take it," I grit out, remaining still.

Tightening his hold on my neck, Tyler presses the tip of the blade on the center of my chest. "You're both too late," he taunts with a laugh before his entire body goes stiff and the unmistakable crackle of a taser sounds behind us.

"Got him," I hear Leah say before I drop to the ground.

Tyler screams and curses as he falls to his knees beside me, body spasming from the probes along his back. As much as I want to look back to watch him writhe before being cuffed and dragged into custody, the urge to get to Bella proves stronger. She's lying a few feet in front of me with her eyes closed, face bruised and battered. Inching toward her, I place my head against her heart where I hear it softly thrumming and feel the rise and fall of her chest.

I smile despite the dizziness and searing pain coursing from my wounds. The wind rustles through the branches, and the lights of the bird swings spin above us. Her name falls from my lips as my eyelids lower and I surrender to the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: Pals, my Google history is a hot ass mess. I watched about six taser videos, researched gun stances, read TSA rules and regulations for firearms for law enforcement on planes, and googled painful places to be stabbed. If there's no update next week it's because I was taken into custody by Homeland Security ;)**

**This week's chapter was a bit dark, so let's offset it with some funny. Sound off, fandom – what's the most questionable/funniest/strangest thing you've ever searched on Google? **

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fave'd, rec'd or lurked this fic. See you Thursday!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

I wake to the sound of a steady beep, but I don't open my eyes. Every part of me feels heavy. Sore. There's a dull ache radiating up and down one side of my body and a tightness in my chest. I go to rub it, but my arm is secured and the movement is so painful I groan.

"He's up," I hear Leah say from somewhere nearby followed by footsteps and the opening of a door. "He's up," she calls again.

Groggy, I force one eye open only to see a pain scale hanging on the wall across from the end of my hospital bed. On a scale from one to ten, I'm a solid six.

"Mr. Cullen," a dark-haired woman says as she enters the room, pumping the hand sanitizer dispenser and rubbing it in as she approaches. She must register the confusion my face. "You're at Forks Hospital. You were admitted last night after sustaining several injuries. Do you remember what happened?"

Indistinct flashes of my struggle with Tyler come back to me. The details are somewhat murky as I play them back. I remember seeing him with his hands around her throat and fighting to pin him down until he … "I was stabbed."

"You were," she confirms, checking my vitals. "You should probably buy yourself a lotto ticket once you get out of here. You were very lucky. That and you had Dr. Felix as your surgeon."

"Surgeon?" I ask, sounding hoarse.

She nods. "Mr. Cullen, you sustained two knife wounds. One to your outer thigh and one to your chest. Your chest and thigh muscles took the brunt of it, but there was some damage to your nerve endings and an artery was nicked."

"And how's that lucky?"

Clasping her hands together in front of her, she chuckles. "Well, apart from the obvious of being alive, you managed to survive with fairly minimal impairments. You're probably going to require assistance for the next six weeks since you'll need to keep your arm in the sling so you don't damage the incision or your muscle any further. Wound care, physical therapy," she shrugs, "and counseling may be a good course of action as well given what you've been through."

I notice Leah and Charlie in the doorway, both looking disheveled as they watch me through tired eyes.

The nurse follows my gaze to the door and excuses herself. "I'll let the doctor know you're up. She'll come see you soon. In the meantime, do you need anything?"

I shake my head. She's not even out of the room before her name is out of my mouth. "Bella?"

"Down the hall with her mom," Charlie answers, jerking his thumb in her direction. "She's uh …" he swallows, "she's pretty beat up, but she's gonna be fine."

My breath comes out with in a whoosh, relieved at his words. I wince at the movement and they're both by my side in an instant. "I'm fine," I grunt, trying to stay still. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asks, pointing to the call button.

I nod. "What about Tyler?"

"He's in custody," Leah answers, glancing at the chief unsure. "But he's not talking."

"Not talking?"

"Not a word." Charlie's mouth twists to one side. "I spoke with your director."

"Esme?"

"Yep. She's sending someone out here. Bree something or other."

"Bree Tanner?"

"That's her."

I whistle low. "She's no joke."

"So I hear."

"She'll get him talking."

"I hope so. The Newtons aren't going to make it easy though. Big Tom hired some hot shot out of Seattle."

"And Mike?"

"Mike was cooperative. Sam talked to him at length when we left. He said he noticed his brother was a little off. Wanting to be alone a lot and working more than usual. He just chalked it up to grief, though. Like maybe this was his way of processing."

"I take it Tom isn't having it?"

Shaking her head, Leah scowls. "No amount of evidence will ever convince him that his kid is a monster."

"Probably not," I agree. "What about Jake?"

"He was released last night."

"Good."

Bowing his head, Charlie slips his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't blame him if he lawyered up, too."

"He might." I tip my head back and forth. "Then again, he might not. All you can do is focus on the fact that we got the right guy this time."

He glances from me to Leah. "Thanks to you two."

She smiles then looks away, seemingly embarrassed.

"Actually, we should probably thank James."

"That's my next stop." He sighs, then mutters, "too many mistakes made."

"We all make them," Leah reassures him.

"Yeah, well I've been making them fairly consistently lately, but I'm gonna try to make them right."

"That's all you can do," I tell him.

Leah's phone vibrates and she checks her text. "Sam needs me back at the station. I'm going to head out." She squeezes my good hand. "Glad you're all right, Cullen."

"And I'm glad _you_ were there, Leah." I squeeze back as much as I can. "Thank you. Truly."

Her lips turn up at the corners. "Don't mention it."

Charlie watches her walk out before turning back to me. "I wanted to apologize to you, too."

"Why?"

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "For not taking the shot. I just, uh … I don't know. It was dark and from my angle I didn't see the knife until it was too late." Rocking back on his heels, he lowers his head. "I wasn't … I couldn't focus. My daughter was laying there, and I—"

"No apology necessary," I cut him off. "You were damned if you did, damned if you didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"If you missed and shot me, you'd be the chief who shot a federal agent. If you'd have shot him, it could've been framed as retaliation for Bella."

"True."

I shift in my bed, trying to get comfortable. "Leah deserves a commendation."

"She deserves more than that." He steps over to the window and peers outside. "She'd be a hell of a Chief of Police."

"She'd be great. Are you thinking about retiring?"

"It's pretty appealing right now." He chuckles. "Anyway, I'm going to let you get some rest. Bella's in room 245 if you want to check on her."

"Definitely."

"I figured you would," he grumbles.

I laugh even though it hurts to do so. "I know. You don't like it, but you don't hate it."

"I don't _hate_ it," he agrees, rubbing his fingers over his mustache. "But I don't mind it so much anymore, either. Take care of yourself, Cullen," he says, walking to the door before turning around. "Take care of her, too."

"I will."

* * *

Hours later, I wake to a soft knock. She's there, leaning against the doorway, wearing a hospital robe and a smile.

"Hey," she rasps, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You up for company?"

"Sure, unless you just want to lurk over there, watching me sleep."

She laughs softly. "Why? Is that creepy or something?"

"Super creepy." I hold my good arm out to her. "Come here."

"Okay, but," she hesitates, pulling her hair back in front of her face and smoothing it down around her throat. "I'm kind of …" She gestures to her swollen cheek, all bruised and purple across one side of her face and her lip is busted. "Kind of a mess."

"Don't," I whisper as she slips her soft hand into mine and sits down in the chair beside my bed. Her eyes lower at the word. "Bella, look at me." She meets my gaze and tips her chin up. My heart sinks at the sight. The entire length of her throat is discolored and one of her eyes is bloodshot. I bring her hand to my lips. "You're beautiful." I press a soft kiss to her knuckles. "And brave and strong."

"I don't really feel like I'm any of the above."

"How're you holding up?"

"They're keeping me one more night for observation, but other than that, I've been better," she says with smile and a shrug, seemingly trying to lighten the mood. "You?"

I glance down at my injuries then back to her, following her lead. "I've been better myself." I kiss her hand again. "You don't know how glad I am to see you."

She smirks. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

I rub my thumb over her knuckles. "I don't think you do."

We're quiet for a few moments. Her, staring at our entwined hands, and me, wondering where to start.

"We have to talk about it, don't we?" she asks softly.

"Can you?"

Her watery eyes move to the ceiling and she presses her lips together before nodding. "I think so."

"Whatever you're comfortable with." I swallow, clasping her hand in mine. "I'm here."

She keeps her tears at bay, relaying the ordeal almost stoically. Clinically and detached. Almost like it happened to someone else. Like she was on the outside looking in. She repeats his words and describes his movements. Her voice trembles when she mentions the song and the things he whispered in her ear as he stroked her face.

"Oh God," she mumbles, wiping away the wetness beneath her eyes, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I just need a second to get myself together. I don't want to be a bawl-baby-mess."

"It's okay to not be … _okay_, you know. Especially about this."

"I know it's not." She sniffs, shaking her head. "But I won't let him. He _won't_ get that from me."

"Your tears?"

"Power." She straightens in her seat. "He doesn't get to have any power over me. My thoughts, my feelings, my fears. None of it. That's what he wants. That's what he was after."

"Power?"

She nods. "His inadequacy drives him. He wanted to be visible and feel significant by exerting his power over me … _us_." She lowers her head. "His brutality seemed to affirm his power or something. I don't know. Maybe I'm not explaining it right."

"You are."

"What about you?" she asks. "How'd you find me?"

"Charlie didn't tell you?"

"No. My dad just burst into tears and could barely get a word out between sobs."

"That's understandable."

"I want to know what happened."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"All right," I say before recounting the previous day's events. I tell her everything, from my random encounter with James to my conversation with Big Tom. She remains expressionless throughout it all until I get to his hunting log. When I mention the sketches and the last words, she tears up again.

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"I'm fine." She wipes her cheeks. "I'm fine, it's just … it's sick how intentional all of this was."

"It is."

"Keep going."

"When we pulled up to the end of the road, I just remember being scared, but determined to find you." Her hand finds mine again. "And then I saw you there, when he was …" I can't get the words out. "But you … you were so fucking brave, Bella, fighting as hard as you could. I didn't even think twice. I just went for him."

Her hands move up to my face, cupping my jaw.

"I needed for you to be all right."

"I'm all right."

"And I needed for you to be safe and happy and _here_."

"I'm here."

"I mean with me." I place my hand over hers on my cheek. "And not like before."

Her eyes water again and she runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "What do you mean?"

I swipe away the wetness with my thumb. "I mean you and me. Together. Out in the open. No secrets. Not for fun. I want us to be the real deal."

"But you said you –"

"I know what I said, and I'm pretty sure we both knew I was being an idiot."

She grins. "Your words. Not mine."

"So," I bring her palm to my lips and kiss it softly, "what do you think? We gonna make a go of this or what?"

"Hmm," she hums before lowering her mouth to mine. "I think I'd like that."

* * *

Three days later, she's gripping my foam-covered chin with her thumb and forefinger. "Hold still!"

"Easy with that, Sweeney Todd," I say, eyeing the shaver she's waving around.

"Dude, it's a generic hospital razor. I highly doubt it'll make a dent in your scruff, let alone nick a major artery." She tips up my chin. "Suck it up."

Although she was discharged two days before, she's been diligent about hanging around to take care of me which I appreciate. "Lovely bedside manner."

"You're welcome." She grins, tilting her head to the side. Her bruises almost look worse today in the bright sunlight. "I'm like a regular Florence Nightingale."

"More like Nightmare-gale," I mumble.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Leaning forward, she kisses me square on the lips and pulls back with foam smeared beneath her mouth. "That's what I thought."

A throat clears from the doorway and we both look up to see the chief awkwardly standing, eyes fixed to the floor.

"Hey Chief," I say while Bella quickly wipes the shaving cream from her chin.

"Heard you're getting sprung today."

"Yep. That's the plan."

"Good to hear." He gestures to Bella. "Surprised to see you here. Didn't think Renee would let you out of her sight."

"She's actually down in the cafeteria," Bella says, setting the razor down by the water basin. "I'll give you two a minute."

"No," Charlie holds up a hand. "You can stay. I figure you need to hear this too. Tyler is, uh, being _uncooperative_."

My brows furrow. "Meaning?"

"He's not talking."

"Maybe his lawyer's telling him to keep quiet."

"No, I mean _not_ talking. Like at all. Leah said he seems practically catatonic."

"You think he's going for an insanity defense?"

"Probably."

"That's bullshit," Bella cuts in. "He's not insane. He didn't do anything that wasn't completely premeditated."

"I know, but –"

"No buts!" Her voice rises. "You can't let him get off on that."

"Did Bree talk to him?"

He nods. "She talked, he just sat there staring at the table for a few hours."

"Fuck."

"His lawyer is bringing a shrink in to analyze him in the next couple of days."

Bella slumps into a nearby chair, sending the book she's been reading clattering to the ground. My eyes scan the title. _Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion._

"Get me in a room with him."

"Can't do that, Edward. That could jeopardize the investigation."

"I don't plan on interrogating him."

"Well, why do you want to talk to him then?"

I gesture to the book on the floor and repeat Bella's words. "He wants to be visible and to feel significant. He wants us to recognize his power."

"You think he wants notoriety?"

"No, but his ego does."

"He'd eat it up," Bella says, staring at the book. "The validation that an FBI Profiler and criminologists everywhere would think his crimes were substantial enough to study."

"Exactly," I turn my head back to Charlie. "Find a way to get me in a room with him."

He stares at me seriously for a moment before pulling out his phone. "I'll see what I can do."

"You do that."

* * *

**A/N: Well, Homeland Security didn't get me (this week), but my obligations to the PTO did so that's why I'm so late posting this. We absolutely loved all the questionable google searches – I admit I googled a couple of them and had a few laughs. I can't unsee some of that shit though : ) **

**This fic is wrapping up and it has us thinking about endings. Obviously, happily ever after is the typical expectation, but happily ever after can mean so many different things. Sound off, fandom – what's your ending jam? Are you only about that HEA life? Or does it depend on the story/characters/genre? Do you prefer the more implied HEA? What about open endings? The fade to black endings? Or the unresolved endings? Tell us what you think.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd, and/or lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers**

**Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!**

* * *

"No," the prosecuting attorney says, folding his arms across his chest. "Absolutely not!"

"Aro, please," Charlie argues, leaning forward tapping on the list of questions. "Agent Cullen will _not_ be interrogating him, nor will he be discussing the specifics of the case."

"I'm not chancing it."

"You've got this guy dead to rights. One survivor, three witnesses."

"I'm not chancing it," he repeats firmly. "A conviction is a conviction, Chief Swan."

"Is that what you think?" I ask from my seat, wincing a bit as my sling brushes the arm rest. "A conviction is a conviction?"

"Agent Cullen, listen, I understand where you're—"

"Clearly you don't if you truly believe that a conviction is a conviction, especially where a predator like Tyler Newton is concerned."

"I just don't want my case compromised."

"So, you'll compromise your integrity instead by letting him skate by with a cushy extended stay at Western State Hospital?"

"I assure you that there's _nothing_ cushy about Western State Hospital."

"And I assure_ you_ that anything less than punishing that man to the full extent of the law is an insult to every single one of his victims and their family members." He opens his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off. "Did you read the case file?"

"I did."

"The M.E. reports?"

"Yes."

"Then how can you not see that each and every despicable act was meticulously planned and executed?"

He shifts his eyes to the copy of questions in front of him.

"Can you honestly say you believe he was out of his mind when he stalked, sketched, lured, and tortured these women?"

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he sighs. "What is it you think you'll get out of him?"

"Whatever I can."

"And what if that's nothing?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Aro," the chief levels him with a pleading stare, "we need to do right by those victims. Please. Just give him thirty minutes alone with Newton."

"Fine," Aro relents with an annoyed wave of his hand. "Thirty minutes, but _only_ if he agrees to it."

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" I ask Bella as she carefully fastens the buttons of my dress shirt.

"You." She slides her hands up to straighten my collar. "Us." Meeting my gaze, she licks her lips. "How this could've gone much, much differently had you not run into James. If you left Forks for good."

My chest aches at the thought and not because of my injury. "It could've," I agree sheepishly. "But if I'm honest, I don't know if I could've gotten too far out of town before coming back."

"And why's that?"

Grimacing, I reach for my wallet on her nightstand with my good arm and unfold it to pull out the slip from her fortune cookie. "Got some good advice."

The corner of her mouth curls up. "From a cookie."

"Maybe." I grin. "But honestly, I was looking for any excuse to come see you, even something as small as returning this."

Neither one of us states the obvious that it would've been too late.

"So, about today," she starts, fiddling with the strap on my sling. "Nervous?"

"Not really. Honestly I'm still in shock that he agreed to meet with me alone."

"I'm not surprised at all. He was probably thrilled to get in a room with you again."

"You think so?"

"I do." She smooths the strap. "That's why you need to let him see you struggle."

"What?"

"Let him see the difficulty your injury has caused. He thrives on that feeling. Like he's inflicted pain in some way. It makes him feel powerful."

I nod.

"You need to build him up and validate him to get him talking. Make his legacy out to be as illustrious as he imagines and feed into his every delusion." She gently fastens the Velcro. "Reinforce his narrative."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Trust me, it will. And once he believes that he's being viewed by others the way he sees himself …" She presses a feather-soft kiss to my chest before whispering, "Then you break him."

* * *

"Stick to the script, Agent Cullen," Aro says, slipping his hand into his pockets as we stare at Tyler through the one-sided glass. He's slumped in his seat, cuffed, looking despondent and disheveled in his orange jumpsuit.

My mind goes back to that night. His hands around her throat, eyes wild, and enjoying every second of her pain. The smile on his face when he told me it was too late. His elation. His smug expression as he twisted the blade. My jaw clenches at the memory and a dull ache radiates in my chest.

"_I mean it_," Aro warns, pulling me from my thoughts.

I nod and step into the interrogation room, exaggerating my limp and wincing with every movement.

We're both silent as I slide my recorder and notes onto the table. I can feel his eyes on me, sizing me up while I carefully take my seat.

He grins. "Agent Cullen."

"He speaks," I reply, sorting my papers out in front of me, unaffected as I am not interested in exchanging pleasantries with this creep. "It's my understanding that you haven't been particularly talkative since your arrest except for to accept my interview request against the wishes of your counsel."

He shrugs a shoulder.

"I'd like to begin by reiterating this is _not_ an interrogation. I'm simply collecting data to better profile individuals such as yourself in the future. This session will be recorded for training purposes and will be shared with future Federal agents and criminologists at the bureau."

He quirks a brow, but says nothing.

"Unless you have any reservations and/or objections …" I trail off, pressing the record button and glancing down at my notes, all business. "Let's start with your upbringing. My understanding is that you grew up in a two-parent, middle-class household with only one sibling. Is that correct, Mr. Newton?"

Remaining silent, he tilts his head at my question.

"Your background suggests that you were largely successful at everything you endeavored. Eagle Scouts," I run a finger across the information, "athletics, academics, a model employee, and citizen in the Forks community. Very impressive on paper."

A hint of a smile plays at his lips.

"It would take far too long to list your accomplishments, but I'm curious to know at what point did your path change?" I squint up at him. "Was there any significant event in your life that may have contributed to the …_ incidents_ in the past few months? Your mother's illness and death, for instance."

His smile is gone, replaced by a scowl.

"How did that affect you?"

More silence.

"I can understand if things of this nature may be difficult for you to discuss. We'll circle back to that one. What about relationships, Mr. Newton? Were or are you involved with any person or persons, romantically speaking?" I read directly from my paper. "And if so, can you describe your involvement. Was the involvement mutual and consensual? Romantic or sexual in nature?"

He shifts in his seat, rolling his eyes and looking away.

"Mr. Newton?" I ask, snapping my fingers to get his attention. "Mr. Newton," I say firmer this time.

Still no response.

"This is a waste of my time," I mutter, struggling to collect my papers one-handed. "Although I'm sure my colleagues back at the bureau are going to be very disappointed."

He leans forward, sliding his cuffed hands onto the table.

"You know, when I first got this case, my director told me this was going to be big and as soon as I saw the crime scene photos, I _knew_ she was right. If I'm honest, we haven't seen anything like you since …" My words fade out, and I let a few moments pass before going back to collecting my things. "You know what? Forget it."

"Since what?" he asks, unable to hide his curiosity.

I huff, annoyed. "Not what, whom," I reply. "Typically, we classify our cases based on the nature of the crimes themselves. But then, in our _higher_ profile cases, we group them based on similarities with other prominent offenders."

He clears his throat before he speaks. "Higher profile?"

"Yep." I brace my leg as I swing it around to stand, not having to fake my pained expression. "Your crimes were being compared to some of our more _notorious_ killers."

"Who?" His words come out too eager, so he lowers his voice. "I mean, which ones?"

I stare at him a moment, drumming my fingers on the table as if I'm debating on whether or not to answer his question. "You matched several of their markers."

"Markers?"

"Indicators." I sit back in my seat. "Obviously not statistics. It's not necessarily a numbers game. It's more of a measure of what _kind_ you are."

"What kind of what?"

"The kind of _killer_ you are." I meet his gaze at the word and note the slightest movement at the corner of his mouth. "We factor in quite a few characteristics. It's all quite interesting, but since you're not planning on answering my questions, we're done here."

I move to press stop on the recorder when I hear him. "Then I guess we're done."

Letting my finger remain on the button, I sigh. "That's a shame, my superiors were looking forward to learning more about you and finding out what made you tick. Hell, they were even trying to come up with a moniker for you."

He huffs out a small laugh and straightens in his seat. His tells are subtle. Shoulders back, chest out posturing, pupils dilated. I'm almost certain he's eating it up.

"Not since BTK have we seen someone so … meticulous and methodical. Organized and prepared. Not to mention the brutality. The similarities were all there, however," I hold up a finger, "you had one thing that Dennis lacked and you had it in spades."

Wide-eyed, he leans in and hangs on my every word.

"Brute strength."

The room is silent for a few moments apart from the low hum of the fluorescent lighting above.

"You also registered high with another one of our prominent offenders as well." I clear my throat and go back to shuffling my papers. "Your ability to lure your victims without difficulty suggested that you were … likable and charming. Winsome like Bundy, and just as clever."

He clasps his hands together on the table, never taking his eyes off of me.

"Brilliant, even. You were ten steps ahead of us at all times."

Propping his elbows on the table, he brings his hands up to cover his mouth. Probably trying to hide his glee.

"But what's almost more impressive is the way you were able to hide in plain sight. No one would've suspected you. You were an upstanding citizen. A Dudley-Do-Right. Unlike Gacy—"

"Gacy?" he asks, far too keen at the name drop. "John Wayne Gacy?"

I nod. "Yeah, but unlike Gacy, you didn't have to paint yourself as a clown or pretend to be something you weren't. Your family is so revered in this town, you weren't even on our radar. As a matter of fact, I'm almost certain that if we didn't catch you, you could've been as prolific as any of those guys. You had so much …_ potential_."

His throat bobs as he swallows while his mind turns my words over in his head. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on the probability that he's got a full-on erection going under the table.

"It's a damn shame, really."

A crease forms between his brows. "What's that?"

"That you turned out to be _such_ a fucking disappointment."

He practically wilts at the word.

"You're weak, Newton," I say with a leer. "Below average." I angle toward him and lower my voice. "Unremarkable."

He shakes his head and clenches his fists.

"But you knew that, didn't you? Deep down you know, don't you? You're a joke."

He grits his teeth.

"A cliché. Nothing more than a wannabe, and do you know why that is, Tyler?" I dip my head to catch his eyes. "Do you know why your name will _never_ be uttered in the same sentence with the likes of BTK or Bundy?"

Fury rolls off of him in waves, every inch of him is coiled like he's ready to spring.

I lower my voice. "It's because you're a coward."

"No," he hisses, bringing his fists to his temples and pressing them into his skin.

"You're spineless." I squint. "And pathetic."

He beats his hands on the table and yells "NO!"

"BTK and Bundy didn't puss out like you with that insanity bullshit. They claimed their shit, but you … what? You're gonna blame your mommy for not loving you enough, so you can do arts and crafts up at Western for the rest of your life." I give him a disgusted look and turn off the recorder. "Pussy."

His top lip draws up in a snarl.

"Got your face kicked in by a bound girl half your size and tasered by another so bad, I heard you pissed yourself." I stand slowly, grabbing my papers. "Good thing your daddy has some hotshot attorney with a shrink on standby who will corroborate your bullshit Son of Sam song and dance. Who told you to do it? Huh? Was it a neighbor's dog like Berkowitz? Or was it the birds your mommy liked more than you?"

"I did it," he murmurs, but I continue like I don't hear him.

"Or was it because disappointing your mother was the only way you could get off?" His head snaps up at my question, eyes wide, a hint of perspiration above his twisted lips. "That's it, isn't it? Brutalizing girls gets you hard."

"No," he growls through clenched teeth and reaches his cuffed hands out to grab my recorder before pressing the red button. "It was _all_ me."

I carefully take my seat, never taking my eyes off him. "What was all you?"

"All of them." He pushes the recorder towards me on the table, sneer still in place. "And I enjoyed it."

Steepling his fingers, he drops his voice. "Jess cried like a baby and begged the most. Probably took her longest to die though." He smiles. "I wasn't squeezin' hard enough."

"How many times did you stab her?"

"Seventeen."

"That's pretty specific."

"She broke my heart when I was 17." He shrugs, showing his palms. "Seemed fitting."

"You put her face down."

"That's how she let James Hunter fuck her. She didn't seem to mind it then either."

"Why didn't she get the pearl tied around her neck?"

"She didn't deserve it."

"And Kate? She put up a fight, didn't she?"

"She did," he says almost wistfully.

"Is that why you beat her so severely? Because she wouldn't stop fighting?"

"Nah." He laughs. "That was just for kicks." His face turns serious. "She could be a real cunt sometimes with that mouth of hers."

"Is that why you propped her up? To humiliate her?"

"It just seemed like a good idea at the time, but maybe, yeah."

"And she was deserving of a pearl."

"Mom loved Katie. She'd send me for those damn cookies a few times a week."

"How many times did you stab Kate?"

"Seventeen."

"Why seventeen?"

"Same age. Prom night. Jess was off … being Jess. So, Katie asked me to dance, told me I could do better. By the time we broke up, she was off to college. Came back with a boyfriend each summer until one summer she didn't." His stares at his hands. "I made my move, taking her out as much as I could and listening to her go on and on about some asshole from school. All the risk with _no_ reward."

"Reward?"

"Jacob Black was taking all the liberties with Katie," he says, bitterness coating his every word.

"I see."

"Same with Emily. I let her cry on my shoulder about that no-good boyfriend of hers nonstop. Just like I told Bella, she'd always crawl to him back like a beaten dog." He straightens in his seat. "So, before I put her out of her misery," he smirks, "I gave her a good beating."

_This sick fuck, sitting there proud and preening. _"Lemme guess, mommy liked her, too?"

The smirk is wiped clean from his face.

"Are those mommy's pearls, Tyler?" I gum my lips before whispering, "is that all she left for you when she died? Those and her bird swings?"

He says nothing, just stares daggers at me. Beads of sweat are forming on his hairline and I can see the veins in his neck straining.

"Let's talk about Maggie."

"You know what I did to Maggie, Agent Cullen." He grips the edges of the table. "Let's talk about what_ I_ did to Bella Swan."

I do my best to remain expressionless at his words and keep my voice even. "All right."

"I got her in my van, and she was all smiles. Completely oblivious for such a smart girl. She was the only one who sang our song with me, you know?"

"And?"

"And once the cat was out of the bag, she took the Katie route. Went crazy, kicking and yelling like a lunatic, so I … did what I had to do."

"What was that?"

"I hit her until she stopped. Stopped screaming and fighting … until she stopped moving." He licks his lips. "We talked for quite a bit when she woke up. Naturally she wanted to know _why, _but I was far more interested in telling her _how."_

"How what?"

"How she was going to die." A sinister grin spreads across his face. "How I was going to wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life out of her." The far-off look in his eye tells me he's thinking about it as he speaks. "I told her I wouldn't stop until she was gone. And once she was, then I'd have my fun."

His knuckles are practically white, clutching the table as he relives the moment in his mind's eye.

"I showed her the knife. Told her about the sound it makes tearing the flesh and piercing the bone." He inhales deeply. "She smelled so good when I got close enough to whisper in her ear. Do you know what I whispered to her, Agent Cullen?"

My mouth is barely able to form the word. I know what he whispered, but I don't want to hear him say it. "No."

His smile widens as he speaks slowly, "_It's going to tear you apart_."

"We both know that didn't happen though."

"True," he says with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "However, it does appear I tore one of you apart." Laughing cruelly, he tips his head back and slaps his hands on the table. "Tell me, Agent Cullen. Does she want you now that you're broken?"

I don't reply.

"Does she want you now that you can't degrade her the way you used to?"

The door swings open and the guard saunters in. "Time's up, Agent Cullen."

"Good," I gather my papers again, rising from my seat. "I think we're done here."

"I want my lawyer," he tells the guard. "I want to change my plea."

The guard chuckles. "You're not insane anymore?"

"Never was," he says, being pulled to his feet.

Turning off the recorder, I follow them out of the room and away from the watchful eyes of the prosecuting attorney and Charlie. "Mr. Newton," I call and he turns.

As I approach, I consider making some chest-beating, manly-man comment pertaining to Bella, but I think better of it and go with the truth instead. "Your mother was right about you, you know." I can barely contain my growing smirk as my words hit their mark. "Such a disappointment.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this is late! It was my twins' birthday on Thursday and I was so behind. Final chapter should be up on Thursday.**

**Let it WIP Rec**

_**The Last of the Real Ones by bicyclesarecool**_** – "The world today is content to call the Vigilante an alien, a cyborg, a military experiment gone wrong. But I know the truth." A superhuman avenger and an empty young woman meet in free fall. Nothing will ever be the same. **You guys, bicyclesarecool is already back with another amazing fic – her writing is like Captain America's ass – so fab you just have to admire it.****

**I've begun plotting out my next fic, but I'm on the fence about which perspective it should be told from. Sound off, fandom – which POV do you prefer your stories in – BPOV or EPOV? Does it depend on the story or does it depend on the writer?**

**Thanks so much to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd and lurked this fic! See you Thursday!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Rated M  
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers  
****Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,  
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and  
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,  
You three are the best!  
**

* * *

**Ten Months Later**

"Ms. Swan, you're free to address the court," the judge says, waving her up to deliver her Victim Impact Statement.

Standing slowly, she tucks her hair behind her ear as she approaches the podium. "Thank you, your Honor. If it's okay, I'd like to address the defendant directly." The judge gives her a nod and she carefully places her paper down, smoothing it out with her hands. "I had mixed feelings about delivering a Victim Impact Statement today, especially after hearing the heartbreaking accounts of the families whose loved ones suffered at your hands."

She swallows audibly and looks at Tyler. "I've sat here through every minute of these proceedings. I've watched your reactions as you were vividly painted as the monster_ I_ know you to be. I've caught your every smirk. Every amused chuckle. Each look of longing as your crimes were discussed in detail. But I've yet to see an ounce of remorse for any of your victims or their loved ones."

Glancing down at her paper then back again, she continues. "I had a particularly difficult time putting pen to paper with this statement. I read dozens and dozens of these types of statements, trying to figure out where to begin. Each one more heart-wrenching than the last. But then it occurred to me …" She pauses a moment, making sure she has his attention. "I am _no_ victim. And you will have _no_ lasting impact on me."

He scoots back in his chair, wearing a gray three-piece-suit and the smug little smirk he's had plastered on his face for the majority of the trial.

"It is my hope that you will also have no further impact on the strong women you preyed upon. Between myself and the families and the good people of the Forks community, we intend to make sure their names live on through charitable and civic contributions. Your name and your crimes will not sully their legacies. Again, you will have no lasting impact."

Taking a deep breath, she peeks at her notes. "As for me. I will walk out of this courtroom and never think of you again. I'll go on, live my life, doing what I love," she smiles softly and meets my eyes, "with the man I love."

Her gaze cuts to his. "In all honesty, this _should_ be enough for me. And it would be if it wasn't for that pesky word again. _Impact_. It doesn't seem fair that you're the one who gets to make the impact. Or any impact at all, for that matter."

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he watches her closely.

"I have complete trust in the court that you will receive the appropriate sentence for your crimes. God willing, you'll be locked away for the rest of your natural life for the atrocities you've committed. And while it does seem fitting, I can't help but wonder, will it have any _impact_ on you? Will the long days and nights, surrounded by violent criminals be enough to make you remotely remorseful? Will you reflect on your crimes as you lay in your four-by-five cell night after night and feel penitent?" Her eyes narrow. "Or will you relive them, savoring each detail?"

Propping his elbows on the table, he clasps his hands together and covers his mouth like he did in the interrogation room. Although his lips are hidden, it's clear that he's smiling given the crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"My guess is the latter which is a shame, but in your case, not surprising. So, while you lay there each night, replaying the details over and over, no doubt congratulating yourself on a heinous job well done, allow me to offer you another viewpoint to play it from." She tilts her head slightly, fighting a smile. "Another perspective, if you will."

"That day in the van, you spoke at length about your reasoning. As a matter of fact, you droned on and on. It was quite pathetic, really. A grown man desperately trying to conceal his numerous inadequacies through violent acts against women. Rationalizing his behavior and projecting his shortcomings on the confused ramblings of a terminally ill woman who was more than likely so medicated she had no idea what was coming out of her mouth."

Tom hangs his head at the mention of his wife while Mike places a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"In fact, I suspect that your actions have more to do with your fragile ego than anything. I'd be willing to bet this surfaced long before your mother's illness impaired her. My guess is that it stemmed from childhood. Inadequacy has probably plagued you from a young age, manifesting itself in several despicable and humiliating ways. Enuresis, cruelty to animals, and delusions of grandeur." Her voice takes a more clinical tone. "As you aged, I suspect compulsive masturbation was a frequent past time and given your proclivity for stalking, I'd hedge you did your fair share of peeping as well."

A few chuckles break out in the courtroom and out of the corner of my eye, I notice Emmett McCarty's shoulders shake with silent laughter. Tyler stiffens, looking positively murderous at her words with his brows furrowed and jaw clenched behind his fists.

"My intent with this statement is not to trigger any embarrassing internalized memories or to make you feel taunted or shamed. It's merely to serve as a reminder that we, the women you sought to impact, saw you for what you truly are and not the clever predator you believe yourself to be. We saw your every flaw and every deep-seated insecurity you've tried to bury. We saw the _real_ you. The _weak_ you. The pitiful boy asserting his manhood by brutalizing bound women who were unable to defend themselves."

Her impassive expression turns icy as she levels him with a glare.

"I'm certain that when you look back and reminisce about us, you'll no doubt recall the things you loved most. The screams and the struggles and the heady rush of power you may have felt as we fought to survive. But I hope when you envision the fear in our eyes, you'll also remember what _we_ saw. You'll remember that Jess and Kate saw you as _unworthy_. And Emily and Maggie saw you as _insignificant_." She breathes in deeply and exhales slow. "As for me, I saw you in that moment as I see you now. You're nothing more than a fragile, entitled, pathetic failure. A _complete_ waste of potential." She pauses to stare him down, unintimidated by the pure vitriol in his expression. "Overwhelmingly disappointing, and therefore … utterly _unimpactful_."

* * *

Tyler is sentenced to serving four life sentences concurrently, plus another twenty-five years for his crimes against Bella and me. I sit with Leah and the chief as the judgement is pronounced. There are some smiles, and a few celebratory hugs between the grieving families. But mostly there are tears on both sides. Rosalie McCarty consoles her weeping husband, while Mike Newton struggles to keep his sobbing father upright.

Tyler doesn't acknowledge any of it as he's escorted from the courtroom.

* * *

"Give me a minute to say goodbye to her, will ya'?" Charlie asks when we pull up to Bella's place later on that afternoon.

"Sure."

Bella is out front, trying her damnedest to shove a huge red suitcase into my already too full SUV. Her father takes a turn, jostling and shifting everything until he's able to get the door to latch. She high fives him and says something that makes him laugh. They're mirror images of each other, both standing there with their hands on their hips. He's wearing a misty-eyed smile, and she's wearing my favorite threadbare t-shirt from the Bureau that she swore up and down she didn't steal the last time she came to visit.

I look away when they hug, not wanting to intrude on his goodbye to his baby girl. Moments later, there's a knock at the window and the chief is standing there.

Opening the door, he holds out his hand for me to shake as I get out. "Cullen."

"Chief," I reply with a dip of my chin and a firm handshake. "We'll see you in a few months."

"I plan on it."

"Are we going freshwater or saltwater fishing?"

"Either one works for me." His hands find their way to his hips again. "I didn't think you liked fishing."

"Eh, well, you know … I don't _hate_ it." I smile. "But I don't mind it so much anymore, either."

He chuckles as he rounds the car. "Safe travels, you two."

I give him a wave before turning to Bella who's got her arms wrapped around herself looking a little somber as she watches him drive away.

"Are you all right?"

She nods.

"That's an awful lot of luggage, lady. How many of those boxes are filled with books?"

"I've gotta keep myself occupied in Virginia."

"There's tons to do there," I tell her, slipping an arm around her waist.

"I hear Virginia is for lovers." She giggles when I dip my head to kiss her neck. "What does that slogan even mean, anyway?"

"Virginia is for people who love history and beaches and mountains." I press my forehead to hers. "And for guys who love girls that make them pistachio cupcakes for the long ride ahead."

She rolls her eyes, but can't help but smirk. "Your treats are in the front seat. You don't need to butter me up."

"Excellent," I peck her on the lips, "but I wasn't buttering you up, Virginia really is for people who love all those things."

"Even the girls who make pistachio cupcakes?"

"_Especially_ the girls who make pistachio cupcakes."

Placing my lips at her ear, I murmur the words that I'll get to say to her every day from here on out. In turn she curls a hand behind my neck, still careful not to put too much pressure on my bad side and whispers them back before kissing me sweetly. When we break apart, I take her hands in mine. Palm to palm, we entwine our fingers.

"So, we're doing this?" I ask, gently squeezing our joined hands.

Positively beaming and looking as fucking beautiful as ever, my brilliant girl nods. "We're doing this."

* * *

**A/N: That's a wrap on this one, pals! Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fave'd, rec'd, lurked and sounded off on this fic. We loved seeing everyone's thoughts and guesses – we had lots of fun with it.**

**Huge love and thanks to my best girls who make this happen:**

**Yum – Grateful for all you do, sis, and I appreciate all the love and encouragement and the time you put into whipping this fic into shape. Love you, Jen!**

**Planetblue – Big love to you, birthday girl! So thankful to you for all your feedback and endless speculation on whodunnit – for a minute there you had me _really_ thinking about making Bella the killer, LOL. Glad we could put our questionable love/knowledge on killers and creepiness to work, pal! Thanks so much, Aim! Love you!**

**Carrie ZM – Giiirrrrrrllll … Much love and appreciation for all the time, love, effort, and Holy Water you put into this one. I wouldn't have had the balls to write it if you weren't cheering it on. Truly, Care – so grateful to and for you! Love you, HCC!**

**Until next time, fandom! LAHM out!**


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